So....

So... What to say? I sounded a bit crazy in that last post. Sorry. Nothing bad happened that directly effected me. I'm sure something bad happened somewhere.
I've been back at school for a week now, and can I say OW. So many stairs, so little time to climb them. I only have classes on the top floor and in the basement. And I can't walk down stairs properly because my ankles don't bend forward since the surgery.
But besides the stairs thing, and the pain thing, its been good. My sewing teacher is cool, and my English teacher actually spent an entire class having us see who could fold and throw a paper airplane the farthest. I got third place, best out of all the girls. Yes, I know. Pointless skill.
Oh, and I got a new therapist person. Actually, my old phychiatrist had a baby and went on mat. leave, and now I have a therapist and a phychiatrist. As far as I can tell, the therapist just calls in the other guy to write pharscriptions.
He's nice, the therapist. His name is Peter Mary. I meant to ask him if his middle name is Paul. I told my friend that and she didn't get it. Before her time, I guess. Before my time too, really, but I know a lot of stuff from before my time.
Anyways, we talked about elephants. And my religion, because he didn't know a lot about it and he wanted to understand. He also apologized in advance if he says something offending because he doesn't know or understand something about it. I told him I don't get bothered by people offending me, only when they offend people I care about. Then I threaten them or yell or actually hurt them.
I have anger issues.
I think its cause I was always so shy as a kid, and I just kinda stuffed everything down deeper and deeper and then in grade six I made friends with this girl and she just somehow made me stop stuffing and actually act on my anger, but I never learned how to properly express my anger so it comes out about the oddest things and in violent ways.
Like last week, I wouldn't make my sister pasta so she called me a b****. I started grabbing things and throwing them at her as hard as I could. ie a magnetic paper holder on the fridge, a binder, a cutting board, a butter knife, a shirt, a toothbrush...
I don't even know why. I don't even remember much. But I know I ended up in my room, a cut on my face and I had been writ ting on my bedroom wall, which isn't that weird because its kinda what I do, graffiti my wall. My mom says its okay because you can actually see the stud things through the wall it needs new paint s bad and I'm a good artist so it makes it look better. She said that not me. I'm not actually that good.
On my walls I have;
West wall- Boys are like slinkys, useless, but fun to watch fall down stairs. Every rose has thorns. To put it nicely, I hope you choke. My dads phone number from when he was in Texas. A list of my favorite books. When I got really mad at my step dad Iwrote on my wall in runes about why I was mad. a drawing of a rose. We're all ad here. The lyrics to Thinking of You by Katy Perry. A bunch of old stickers. A ceramic fairy I named Fred. A origami valentine the exchange student gave me for Valentines day after I have her a valentine written in Japanese.
South Wall- under my window: Do not close window if open. You cannot soar like an eagle on the wings of a wren. You are a china shop I am a bull, you are a good mean, I am full.
East wall- a giant angel... well, less of an angel, more of a girl with wings. Too much writing to put down.
North wall- that's my closet. I have some Latin on my doors, and the entire "Anyone lived ina pretty how town" by ee commings.
Okay. Oh, and a twilight poster with 3D glasses taped to Bella's face.
Okay, so, I'm going to sleep now. Night!

Bad Feeling

I have a really bad feeling. A really really bad feeling.
It could be because I'm going back to school this week or the next for the first time since my surgery.
It could be because well everyone else is trying to put my life back together, I feel like all they're doing to taping a broken skylight back together. Soon enough, its gonna rain and its going to break again, falling all over you.
It could be because my best friend's symptoms seem to be getting worse and worse every day, and all she can think about is that she needs to cancel her MRI because she's going to have to miss one Pre-Cal class for it.
It could be because my mom seems to be heading towards the nervous breakdown she nearly had last year.
It could be because I woke up this morning to my stepdad telling my sister, "How dare you threaten me with a knife!" I go to the kitchen to see my sister holding a butter knife with jam on it because she was making herself toast with jam when he came in to talk to her.
It could be because I'm in so much pain I can barely walk.

It could be any one of these reasons, but I still feel like something is going to happen. Its felt like the world has been holding its breath just waiting.
God, I sound insane I bet. But I swear, something is wrong.

Playing Suicide Hotline

Why do I spend my nights this way?
I just phoned a girl I've never met, never spoken to in my life, to convince her not to kill herself.
You're probably confused. Let me explain.
Okay. So, I'm more or less a shut in. I don't leave my house. Thinking right now, I haven't been outside in over a week. So I don't have many friends, but the few friends I have I don't know their friends.
My best friend I've ever had has a friend going through depression issues. Tonight, she was talking to her and she started telling my friend that she didn't see the point of life anymore.
Then she went offline and wouldn't answer texts.
My friend has medical issues triggered by stress. When she gets stressed, she can get pretty sick. So I offered to phone her friend.
My friend didn't have her number. So I went into my phone book and tracked it down using only her last name and street.
And then I called her, and stopped her from killing herself.
It was really weird. I was looking on all these suicide websites listing all the reasons they said on why you shouldn't kill yourself, then I'm like, eff this. So I just started talking to her.
And, not to sound too egotistical, I SAVED HER LIFE.
And then we hung up after I gave her my number and told her to call or text or message or add me anytime she wanted.
And then I went to my kitchen and made pizza in the middle of the night.
Then I came on here.
Also, is anyone still reading this? Because I don't think you are.
So I'm bragging about saving someones life to no one. Oh well.

Also, I'm aware that I could have simply delayed her suicide a day. But she refuses to go back to therapy, and its weird for her to talk to people when she has to see them later, so I'm hoping she'll actually use me as her suicide hotline.
Oh, she just added me on Facebook. That's good.

Ouch.

Well... I'm back. And I can't walk.
See, I was right about the lots of standing thing at the wedding and reception and my shoes were terrible. Like my clothing that I wore all week, they looked nice, actually really nice, but were horrible to wear. But I wanted to look nice for my dads family.
See, my closet is full of graphic tee's, ripped jeans covered in pen, and I wear crocs most days. But my dad wanted me to look nice, so I went to Value Village with my friends and they picked out nice clothing for me. (I didn't want to spend a fortune getting new clothing that I'll only wear once).
Yeah. And then after I left Medicine Hat, me and my dad went to go stay with my Amma (grandmother) and mom and little sister, who were there visiting.
This was great fun for my dad, who is divorced from my mom, so he spend two days living with his ex-wife, and ex-mother-in-law.
We went to the Calgary Zoo one day, and the Tyrelle Museum the next.
OW.
So now I'm going to go find a heating pad to wrap around my legs, take a sleeping pill, and sleep.
ps. Me and my mom have been talking, and we think its best if I start taking actual pain medication. To anyone with CMT, is there anything that you would recommend? My mom thinks Tylenol 3's are our best bet, but when I had surgery I had to take three before anything happened. My doctor would give me morphine if I asked for it, literally, so don't worry if what you would suggest is a bit powerful. It did take them twice the amount of knock out gas to make me sleep in surgery.

Medicine Hat

So, I'm going to Medicine Hat. My cousin is getting married. I have to wear really painful shoes and I'm guessing I'll be standing up a lot, so I can't imagine I'll have much fun.

Meh. I just had to go chase away stoned and/or drunk teenagers from my front yard where they were screaming my sisters name at the top of their lungs. Did I mention its like 3am? Ya. I opened my front door and yelled that my sister wasn't home and to go the f*** away. I never swear except to my sisters friends, because otherwise they don't take me seriously.

Anyways. I'm going to Medicine Hat. It's going to suck, as far as I can tell. My dad has been telling stories about how sick I was and how much pain I was in and whatever, so everyone will be asking me how I am and stuff.
The thing is, I like telling people about when I was in the hospital. Its a good story.

I got to the hospital, and they took me to the OR, and they tried to put me to sleep. The doctors and nurses were trying to make me feel safe or whatever, and they were talking about how the gas mask smells like Canadian Tire, so I decided to tell them I got mt favorite pair of shoes there.
That made them think the drugs were working, I guess.
After a while, I was still awake. It took them forever to make me go under.
When I woke up, they hadn't given me any pain meds yet.
I woke up with three breaks in each foot. My tendons had been cut and moved.
It was unimaginable pain.
The nurse gave me eight shots of morphine before she finally called the doctor to ask him to give me a shot of ketemine.
That made me pass out.
I woke up not long after, and I was finally hooked up to an IV, and was getting Morphine and Ketemine and I was still in pain but it wasn't unbearable.
The ketemine made me hallucinate. For some reason I started seeing characters from the tv show Heroes in my hospital room.
I kept talking to them, with confused the actual people in the room.
And I kept lifting up my right arm and holding it in front of me.
I was like that for three days. I didn't eat or drink or move.
I finally woke up, and I realized I must have gone through withdrawal from caffeine, which I was happy about.
Then my mom passed me a coke, because she wanted me to drink something.
And she brought me pizza, and Asian food, and like a whole bunch of awesome takeout food that we never get.
And she choose then to get it, when I couldn't eat.
Sigh.

See? I enjoy telling that story. I like that story. Answering 'How are you? Are you feeling okay?'
Not so much.

Worse?

So, CMT is a genetic thing. You probably already know that. I got my CMT from my dad.
My dad has really bad CMT, like, he can't move his toes, his feet dont look like feet anymore, the only thing left on the bottom of his legs is skin and bone. The muscle is long gone. He cut off his thumb last summer and he hardly felt it because the nerve endings are dead.
He went to see my nerologist last week.
My nerologist says I have worse CMT than he does.
I was freaking out when my dad told my he said that, until I though, 'Oh, I'm 15, my dads 55, he must meen compared to age.' So I asked my dad if thats what he ment, and my dad said no.
I'm worse off than my dad.
I told my mom Dr. Skulsky (my nerologist) said that, and she just nodded and said she already knew that.
I seriously didn't know I was this bad.
I mean, I knew I was bad. I can barly walk like 50% of the time. I twist my ankles every day, sprain them twice a month. My hand tremors are like earthquakes. Somedays I'm in so much pain I just take sleeping pills and sleep through it.
But I thought, 'Look at my dad. I'm not as bad off as he is. So don't complain.'
But I am as bad off as he is.
This cant be good.

One Moment

If you could, is there a moment you would go back in your life and change? There probably is. Everyone has a moment when they wish they had done something different, said something different.
I know the exact moment I would go back to.
I would go and back and study my grade nine math test.
Yeah, I know. A math test in grade nine? Really? Not even an exam?
But you know what would have happened if I studied?
I would have been ready for my math test. So I wouldn't have been so distraced that morning that I didn't notice my cat. So I wouuldn't have tripped over him. So I wouldn't have sprained my ankle. So I wouldn't have missed school that day.
And then the next.
And then the next.
And the next.
And on and on it went, until one day I found myself unable to leave my basement, nevermind my house, hadn't seen anyone but my parents, sisters, and two of my friends in months.
Sudenly, it was June, and I hadn't been to school since that day I hurt my ankle in Febuary.
My life has been like that since then. A year and a half later.
A lot of the time I'm unable to leave my home because of my physical pain.
When the physical pain isn't too bad, my phycalogical pain stops me. Anxiety attacks and OCD and paranoia.
Last week I spent 27 hours awake without leaving my room and taped newpaper over my windows to block out the light and baracaded my door. I didn't come out until my mom called a friend of mine and she came over and stood under my window and talked me into coming out.
I'm worried. I don't know what my life is turning into. The group of people I went to school with for ten years are going into grade eleven, and I'm not done grade nine. And how am I supposed to go to school to finish it when I can't leave my house?

Bah. Whatever.