Punk

It’s tiny.   Everything is tiny.   There were so many arguments and fights here over who gets to go first, but now, looking at it, it’s tiny.   Of course that’s an accurate view now that I’m grown up . I think this is the place, or half of the reason my life was destroyed:   a playground.  Most kids look forward to recess, but, not everyone.  I was the kind to look forward to study hall to read and catch up and be the teacher’s pet.  

    Recess was me being chosen last for each team in every sport.  I turn off my chair   I hid from the other kids so I wouldn’t be beat up or left out.  You can’t be not chosen if you don’t play. But looking at it now, it seems stupid. Things were a lot bigger back then.  Things were important back then but now they don’t seem as important.  Time changes everything: certain things don’t change.  There’s a joke:  “how many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb?  One but the lightbulb really has to want to change.”   I want to change, but i need to get to the roots of the problem and that’s why I’m here.  This is where the problem started on a playground.   The infamous wheelchair.  

       Somebody fell and passed out in the playground so let’s call the nurse. The nurse gets a wheelchair and wheels them/me back into the school.   Forget calling an ambulance.  Why would we do that?  Let’s wheel them over the gravel with bumps.  There are three kinds of pelegias:   paraplegia, quadriplegia, and hemiplegia.  I have a little of each: a mixed bag: certain body parts move,  certain body parts don’t.  

    Some days, my left arm move some days it doesn’t.  It feel like picking a lottery number.  Will it come up this time yes or no?  When the doctors who specialize in neurology and chiropractors and everyone they don’t know what’s going on either, but that’s why I came back here because there are two reasons why body parts don’t move when is spinal the other is cerebral and some of the doctors think it’s one and some of them think it’s the other. I think it’s the other and maybe if I can have a recall of the accident, I can move again.   I just wanna be able to stand up on my own feet and walk independent.  They went into physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy. The only kind of doctor I haven’t been to is  a gynecologist.  

    Most people with their problem, don’t remember anything within two weeks of the injury at most, but there are different levels of concussion.  Shoulda coulda woulda but that doesn’t solve anything.   Life doesn’t have a rewind button or a erase button. It just has a play and a forward button.  

       This may be superfluous or waste of time, but all i do is sit in my chair and stare at the wall. Anyway, the nurse has to come into catheterize me and change my feces bag multiple times a day.  They also have to move me so I don’t get decubitus ulcers.  Fun.   Technology has been helpful having electrical wheelchair does help, but I’m going to places and I can’t do anything there and everyone stares as usual and children point.  “Look Mommy.  That guys in a rolley chair.”   The nurses will soon discover I’m missing so I don’t have long.  

     To say it’s lonely it’s like saying the Chicago fire was a small bonfire.  People think I want their sympathy ,  but I don’t.  I just wanna be a person in a crowd that nobody looks at doing anything like having a normal 9 to 5 job, a house. two cars, kids pets, etc. the American dream, but the kids and the nurse in the playground took that away. Revenge?  Impossible because the other kid died in gang Violence, and the nurse passed away from old age.  I’m just trying to get my neurons to communicate so I can move. I’ve tried EEG biofeedback visited a neurologist; it’s all guessing games.  The chiropractor thinks it’s my back, the neurologist thinks it’s my brain and the nerves. Everyone takes something else and nobody knows,  but maybe like the TV shows,  if I see something that triggers all the memories, the memories will come back like when I feel the teddy bear that my aunt gave me and remember my aunt and all the memories we had.   But I look at the playground and feel the metal and nothing comes to me.   Bad memories of bullying. That’s all I remember: the name calling,the laughing. The pointing people don’t laugh at me anymore, but they point a lot.  I imagine my heart callusing. 

Every day becomes a numb fest.  Get someone to transfer me out of bed. Have someone  to bathe me. It’s like the next plane can’t be as limiting as this plane. And it all started here. I’m angry. I want to understand why. Did it serve

amy purpose?   Why did my higher power let this happen?  What’s the point?

        I had turned off my chair.  Some people name their chair after someone or give it a personality or something.  I never named mine.  I want ro be free of it and walk like a cobra shedding its skin.  No more chair.   Give it to someone, sell it or throw it out.  Come on, neurons; remember; work.   I try moving.  I push my arms on the side of the chair to lift myself, but my arms atrophy .  Son-of-a-bitch.  I fall back into the fucking chair and curse this goddam  playground, the punk kid, and the idiot nurse.   I turn on my chair and roll away, but as I roll out, i see a kid in the distance pointing at me.   Great.  Assholes. Then I see another kid come and punch him and there are no parents around, so I start wheeling towards them.  Why not?   I got nothing to lose.  I’m worthless anyway.