Grounded

I’m dangerously depressed.

It’s a pretty day outside, November miracle weather. I should be dancing around town in my power-chair, but I cant. Last time I was out and about something happened with the joystick on my chair, making it immobile. I have a manual transport chair that I am using, but…

Close your eyes. Now damn it! Oh, I forgot you needed them to read. Okay, don’t close your eyes but try to imagine flying around your town. Not in an airplane, you are half human, half machine. You enjoy using your arms as wings, and dancing while you fly. Always dancing. You dance everywhere you go because it feels so good to fly that you can’t help but dance.

Suddenly something snaps in your wing arms and you can’t fly or dance around town, or even get the basic errands you were planning on doing done. You are nothing more than a hurting, broken, flightless cyborg.

That’s me. Dependent on my mechanical body parts, which can break down at any moment. They said it could be as early as tomorrow, but probably next week when the technicians will be able to take a look at it. So I’m sad.

Thinking 12 years might be too long. That’s the plan, sky-diving to my death 12 years from now. I’ll really fly that day, so I guess I do have something to look forward to.

Ok, ill suck it up and put on a happy face and be a good little cyborg now. Thanks for the vent space.

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7 thoughts on “Grounded

  1. I feel for you deeply.

    I too am suicidally depressed over the loss of everything I own from my earliest bronzed baby shoes to the last gift my mother gave me before she died, a hand-knitted afghan which was created with my favorite colors. A fucking, heartless bastard purchased my soul at a storage auction last February 8 because a snafu caused my payment to arrive 10 minutes late, and he never returned my urgent calls. (The idiot could have profited far more from my offer than what he sold that stuff for. What hurts the most is that the items that mean the most to me, even napkins with notes written on them, were undoubtedly trashed.) I have not gone one day since without pangs of depression about the void of items that complement my memories (which are now too hard to bear, no matter how happy they were), or plans for my future projects (written on the napkins). I am waiting for my life insurance policy to be able to pay on suicidal death (2 years) so at least I can pay off everyone before I leave this soul-less life of void and depression.

    But I have full use of my arms and legs. And another friend has been debililated by sudden cancer discovery, chemo and radiation. So I have what you don’t and I should be thankful for that. But I want my stuff back. It’s my life. It’s hard rationalizing the difference between your depression and mine. Last night during an intense episode of depression and anger I screamed at God, who was my Plan C in getting my stuff back, to eat his own shit.

    Still, I keep on creating my AmperArt every month, as I promised my subscribers I’d do till the day I die. Hopefully my Thanksgiving piece will make you feel a little better, as it is about some VERY important stuff in our lifes, Family & Friends. You can see it at http://amperart.com/75-family-friends/

    I hope you have mobility again by Thanksgiving. Otherwise just wheel yourself up to the table, plant yourself there, and feast!

    Now, thanks for letting ME vent.

    Happy Thanksgiving.

  2. I feel bad liking this post, since you clearly are in pain physically and emotionally. Still, I hope knowing that people in the (blog)world are pulling for you helps.

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