I am not content with my life.
For the past twenty years, I have been sick with Glomerulonephritis, which is commonly known as End-Stage Renal Failure, and I am not happy with my daily routine. Day in and day out it’s the same tedious redundancy:
– I take care of an elderly woman out of empathy for her suffering. She selflessly devoted her life to me years ago, saving me from an enviroment of drugs, domestic abuse, and sexual abuse. So there’s no way im going to leave her to some caretaker.
– I go to dialysis, and deal with obnoxious stereotypical blacks, cynical unpleasant old whites, and obnoxious nurses who don’t have to atone for their behavior because they’re so tight with the management that they just get away with it. Not to mention the pain and prolonged discomfort that comes with a typical treatment. After making a couple of very specific “attempts” I now have keloid-stripes on my wrist, and a permanent ‘Give Me Funny Looks’ sticker on my back.
– I have cousins who are typical ghetto trash who have bastard children out of wedlock, and relationships with girls who have kids by other men that are in jail. People who come to my home and bully me on my treatment day, knowing that I couldn’t defend myself because I was so weak.
– I daydream of having a friendship with three women whom I’ve never met, one of them inspires me so much but barely notices me (just recently started again after seven months) even despite me spending hours doing things like drawing, editing, writing blogs, even making figures. look at “their” professional life and I think to myself:
“God that’s everything I want! To travel, to live a dream, to have friends, to be healthy.”
So I try to emulate her (I mean “them”) by exercising and eating clean, but the dialysis seeps in and I can’t walk my path, I have to trudge.
It irks me that I can’t even tell the three of them how much I adore them, how much I love them because it would be considered “creepy” and my God do I hate that telling someone you love them is creepy unless you’ve known them for a long time. Even though I tweet them together sometimes, I only ever get a response from one of them. Sometimes I worry that the other two are thinking just that “This guy’s creepy!”
– I try to write my scripts and my comics and draw my pictures, but I get tired when my blood pressure drops, or I pass out sometimes and wake up to paramedics surrounding me in my den, asking me: “Squeeze my hand, bud! Can you tell me your name?” I have so much that I want to do, so much of the creative gifts that The Creator has given me.
If I could work with those three, God that would be wonderful when I can work with them. Two of them are actors, so I will cast them. One of them is like a master seamstress, she makes her own costumes! I’ll hire her as wardrobe designer. And they’re all gamers and “geeks” like me, so we’d spend lunch talking about comics and comic-based movies.
I didn’t mean to sit and gush about these three, this was supposed to be a write up about my being down. I guess they really do cheer me up, cause I don’t feel like I did a few minutes ago when I started typing. I feel hopeful, like The Creator won’t let me down. I feel like this sometimes but I am thankful for my life, all of it, right up to this very second I type this word “word”. Had I not had these thirty three years that I’ve had, I probably wouldn’t know the meaning of the word “humility”.
If you read this, and didn’t pass negative judgment on me: Thank you. If you read this and think I’m pathetic and/or a “creep”, then please remember that it’s you who are aspersing me.