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The Beginning.

Just getting started

So, this is my first blog post that I’m doing. I guess this is good idea to start out with who I am and what I hope to be sharing with the people who read this.

So the basics, I’m Angel, short for Angela. I’m almost forty and according to my friends, I have a story or fifty to tell so after years of being told that I should write things down, to share things I’ve learned or.. experienced, I’m finally doing it.

Stories are not gonna be coming in any set timeline, so just be warned. Some are reposts from posts I have on Facebook, some with paintings. No last names will be used to protect the innocent, guilty and what not.

Basics: I’m married, no kids and I have a 4.5 pound almost 2 year old fur baby named Purgatory, Purgs for short.

For hint of things to come: Survivor of Child abuse (sexual, physical, emotional.) Survivor of Cancer, and of necrotizing fasciitis & septic shock.

So, there it is.. the beginning… more to come.

So, Update on the adventures of being me:

I went to my normal primary care doctor today, who I love btw.

He said my blood work, other than a heightened white cell count, which is normal considering I’m dealing with an internal infection in my abdominal area was spot on close to perfect. My AC1 was still a 6.8, my bad cholesterol levels were back down to below the normal limits again, my good cholesterol was up higher again where we want it. My kidney function is good, and it looks like I’ve managed to repair some of the damage on them. My immune system is at 79 percent. It’s up from where it has been, so it’s a good thing, and it speaks well for me doing what I’m supposed to do. 

We talked over the CT results, and discussed the lung results as well. Turns out they were using a newish term for something I’ve had since I was a teen. We just now have a name for it, and we know it’s a chronic thing that will never go away and will get worst as I get older. 

Bronchiectasis is a condition where the bronchial tubes of your lungs are permanently damaged, widened, and thickened. These damaged air passages allow bacteria and mucus to build up and pool in your lungs. This results in frequent infections and blockages of the airways. Bronchiectasis often occurs secondary to another medical condition such as cystic fibrosis, sinopulmonary disorders, respiratory tract infections, and allergies. I have this in both of the lower lobes of my lungs, with a greater amount of it in the left lung. We know what’s caused this in me. I’ve had my lungs collapse more than once as a kid and teenager, and  the lower left lobe has curved and doesn’t fully inflate and has never fully inflated since I was roughly six months old. Add in respiratory failure in 2016, and it’s pretty easy to see where the issue is. We now know it’s there, what it is, and knowing is half of the battle with this.

We discussed the huge weight gain (22 freaking pounds. Seriously.  People.. I literally swore.) I’ve had over the past week, and what the heck was up with that, and he was not worried as he helped explain what the heck was happening.

Turns out the weight gain is inflammation and fluid retention caused by the infection in my abdominal wall, appendix, right ovary and the internal scar tissue inside there. It was to be expected, and He understood why I was ticked about the weight gain.

I showed him my biceps, which are looking awesome from my four times a week free weights I use, my chair yoga and my stretching with my thera bands along with my  doing the PT exercises I’ve been doing for four years.

He knew that I’m doing the work, that I’m not just sitting on my ass stuffing my face and not trying. He knew and verbally acknowledged that I am working hard to stay healthy. 

Every day is a struggle that I don’t talk about often with people. It’s a struggle not to fall back into the twisted, and fucked up patterns of my eating disorder that I -never- discuss because I am -stil-l terribly ashamed and disgusted by what I did to myself all in the name of attempting to fit what is considered the standard of beauty and health. Maybe at some point I can write more on this, but that is another post I think.

We discussed pain managment and my concerns about being put on higher doses of narcotic pain killers with my family history of addiction.I’ve seen too many of my blood family members go down that path, and I know addiction is something that I may be prone to if I’m not careful. 

I’ve never hidden this fact from my doctors, and they actually respect the fact that I would rather push through pain until I have no other option to do so because I never want to slide down that rabbit hole. It would be far, far too easy for me to take all the pain meds and go down that path so easily, just so I didn’t feel anything anymore. So, for me I force myself to be honest about what I can handle, what I can’t handle and just how far my limits are. 

For now, I’m in a holding pattern til Monday’s appointment with the OBGYN in Loganville, and then a date will be set for the surgery. Then, they will cut me open and figure out what the hell is happening inside of my body. 

I feel like a bloody pinata.

Defining Love: a modern take on an emotion.

So, I was reading a post of mine on facebook from a few years back, about what love was or wasn’t and I thought it was time I did an updated version of it, cause, well, as I grow older, things get clearer even as things grow more confusing.

Love isn’t big fancy proposals, and giant cards or pizza with their name written on them, or 7-carat diamonds or fancy million dollar vacations.It’s not big expensive nights on the town and drinking two hundred dollar bottles of champagne.

It’s not loud, or showy at all it seems.

It’s in the little quiet moments that people on the outside may never see or notice.

It’s dancing in the living room while watching a youtube video, because the song makes you think of him, even if your dancing is more like swaying anymore to that Ed Sherren song, knowing that even though you’re so far from your seventies, he’s already chased you while you were in a walker, making you laugh yourself silly, just as he’s made you laugh since he was 23.

It’s dragging a chair to share the computer to play a silly PC game and laughing at the words the other one is attempting to spell while they write.

It’s knowing that when you’re writing and you’re trying to block out an action in your head if you yell out “hun, how would you fall if you were stabbed under the left side of your rib cage?” They would come in and show you dramaticly how it would look.

It’s helping each other while making dinner and making a dessert even when you know you will only get one of the three you just watch your partner make cause it’s her favorite. It’s knowing what pizza topping they want without ever needing to ask, but you ask, just in case they change their mind that night.I

t’s the need to give your person a hug when you come home from work before you actually feel like you’re human again, even if there are people visiting, that hug has to happen, visitors be damned, becuase you’re not really even home until you get that hug.

It’s early mornings with Sasha the cat waking you up to be let out of the bedroom, and one you getting up cause the other one just got cozy and doesn’t want to move.

It’s moments of shared grief when you find the old cat collar of Pergy the fluffy cat before her, and it hits you both all over again.

It’s not batting a lash when she calls you to pick up a lipstick at Walgreens when you go and get her meds, and when you ask her what color she wants, she says “I trust you” and you both know she actually does trust you to pick out the right color, and not surprisedly, you do.

It’s making your person go to the hospital, and kissing her before surgery that she may not come out alive from, and not letting her see how damn scared you are knowing she’s dying, and her fate is out of your hands entirely.

It’s crying on the phone to your papa, scared to death of her dying, but keeping a brave face when you see her.

It’s telling her she’d better come back to you, and going to work cause she told you to, so you would keep busy instead of sitting there in the ICU, worrying.

It’s waiting by the phone for a two-minute phone call while she’s miles away fighting for her life and scared she’s never coming home. It’s a month of long sleepless nights, unable to sleep without her next to you.

It’s the best nap you and she have ever have, holding each other’s hand, becuase you’re both finally home.

It’s when she comes home, helping her do little things.. go to the bathroom, washing her hair, making her do her PT.

It’s telling her it’s okay to cry, that it’s okay to be angry over what’s she’s lost, and remidning her that she has done so much more then they thought she would.

It’s laying next to her, holding her hand, when she can’t sleep from pain, soothing her, in the grief.

It’s the haterd of being helpless to help him, cope with the changes of you no longer being who you were before.

It’s being there when the doctors tell her the cane is permanent, and she will never be without it again, and when they tell her she will never walk again and she stares them in the face and tells them “Wanna bet?”

It’s knowing she isn’t joking when she says she will make the impossible happen. It’s knowing She will never give up, even when she is crying and hurting and feels as if the world is crashing.

It’s telling her she’s got this as she makes each painful stair down. It’s celebrating each step, each milestone, together. It’s dealing with temper flaring, crying jags, and mind-numbing pain.

It’s watching her walk solo for the first time in over six months, holding her cane, and whistling the circus theme song to make her laugh while she’s doing her best not to fall on her ass.

It’s that look you share with each other when someone says “oh you poor thing. It can’t be worse then this.” and knowing it can , it has but together you got this handled.

It’s laughing, and singing off-key to random Taylor Swift, and listening to all the news about random superhero movies that you can’t keep track of, but you try your best cause he loves them.

It’s keeping pop tarts in the cabinet for him. It’s keeping booze pops and wine in the fridge for her. It’s being never surprised when a Sephora box shows up on the doorstep, and knowing that hearing the term “unicorn blood” means either she’s watching HP or talking to her bestie about the JS lippie that they both love more than life.

It’s the small stuff, the everyday things, the tying shoelaces, the million tiny moments that mean nothing to others but mean everything to you and them.

“babe, you need to blend your blusher out”

“hun, you got your shirt inside out”

I trust you.

You got this.

We’ll face it together.

Bun-hun.

Potato.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll repeat it more than once.

Love isn’t a big diamond on your hand, it’s not in the fancy ceremonies and lavish honeymoons, or the over the top proposals.

Love isn’t loud, and it doesn’t scream it from the rooftops.

To me, love is a hand squeeze in a hospital bed, a steady hand on my arm as I make careful unsteady steps.

It’s in the quiet soft whisper in my ear when I drift off to sleep.

“I’m here, I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.”

Grieving who you were before you sick…

I saw a post that described being diagnosed with a disability or a chronic illness means that you will be going through the grieving process repeatedly and no one ever tells you about that part of being ill.I thought hard about this, and I have to agree with that the statement is true, at least for me it has been. A chronic illness is a long-term health condition that may not have a cure. In some cases, it’s a combo of different illnesses that have made life you may have led prior to it no longer possible.Let’s break this down using the classic Stages of Grief, but put in the terms of someone who is now going to be dealing with a long term or permanent disability or chronic illness.

Stage 1: Denial: When you first learn of a loss, it’s normal to think, “This isn’t happening.” You may feel shocked or numb. This is a temporary way to deal with the rush of overwhelming emotion.

It’s a defense mechanism.When you are dealing with a chronic illness that may allow you to have good days where your symptoms are more manageable than others, you may slide into this one a lot more than say someone who is permanently wheelchair-bound or who has had a limb removed due to NF or other medical cause. There are days, moments where I want to deny the fact that I can no longer do what I used to do, that who I was before NF is gone. She’s not coming back. This is a stage that I don’t struggle with anymore.

I can’t deny I am no longer the same woman I was before that day in July.

She’s dead.

I’m not.

I have to deal with it.

Stage 2: Anger: As reality sets in, you’re faced with the pain of your loss. You may feel frustrated and helpless. These feelings later turn into anger. You might direct it toward other people, a higher power, or life in general.

No one however talks about how to handle the anger when it’s not at someone else for dying. When it’s your own body that broke down and failed. When it’s every nerve in your body misfiring making you feel as if you are being stabbed with a thousand blades all at once, or that doing something as innocent as bending over to pick up your ten pound cat can make you cry out from the pain, cause you should not be bending over to pick up the damn cat.I struggle with this one, alot.

I don’t think, actually, I know most people have no idea how much anger is balled up inside of my abdominal area, right where doctors cut out so much of the muscles there save my life. I am angry every day. I want to scream, rage and throw something at whatever deity, creature …thing that decided that I had to go through this. I have to force myself not to let the anger show, or to let it out on someone who doesn’t deserve to deal with my temper which is.. Easily broken anymore.

So, this is me, explaining that if one day you see me, and I look angrier than you normally see me, try to remember, I’m not pissed at you, I’m angry that my body failed and there is nothing I can do to change that. Not because I’m mad at one person for any particular reason, but because I am just fucking angry at the entire idea and I’m not sure if I will ever really get over that anger.

Stage 3:Bargaining: During this stage, you dwell on what you could’ve done to prevent the loss. Common thoughts are “If only…” and “What if…” You may also try to strike a deal with a higher power.

Been here, alot.

“Please, if you just let me walk again…

What if I hadn’t gone to the store that day?

What if the doctors would have caught it sooner..

What if…

When I get to this point, I ahve to remind myself there is nothing I can do now about the what if’s.

Stage 4:Depression: Sadness sets in as you begin to understand the loss and its effect on your life. Signs of depression include crying, sleep issues, and a decreased appetite. You may feel overwhelmed, regretful, and lonely.

This is something we face more than people think. It’s not the same as losing someone else, it’s the loss of self. The loss of whoever we were before we got sick. It’s something that some of us face every day, that ….

We’re not them and it’s not really a surprise that a lot of people who have chronic illnesses battle things like clinical depression, anxiety, and tend to become more and more socially distinct from people and places we used to love. There is a higher risk for self-harm and suicide in chronically ill people than most think. Sometimes it’s by self-medicating in an attempt to stop the pain, and in others, they just get so overwhelmed they start wondering if there isn’t any other way to deal with it.

Stage 5:Acceptance: In this final stage of grief, you accept the reality of your loss. It can’t be changed.

Just like in normal grief, people can go back forth, skip steps, repeat them, and there is no true timeline for how someone is going to handle what is happening to them.Being chronically ill means for a lot of us, we are always grieving, even if we don’t show it.

We have to take every single day one by one and remind ourselves that we are still here. We are still fighting, and that we are still worth the fight.

The advice I would give to someone about … part 1.

I was asked what advice I would give to a necrotizing fasciitis patient or their caregiver. I sat down and put a lot of thought into my answer and I came up with a decent list. 

These are based on my experiences as one.

1: Be prepared to be angry.  Don’t fake being happy about being alive, about being a bit broken. If you bottle up the anger, trust me, it will find a way to come out. In this case, Anger is a good thing. It can help you push forward so you can make it to the next step in your recovery and survival.

 

2: Be prepared to face that you will never be who you were before this happened to you or the person you loved. Ask questions, seek a good therapist to help you handle the drastic changes in yourself from surviving this nightmare. If you are a caregiver, the same. You’ll need the support too if you are going to be there for the person you love during their journey and stay sane. 

 

3: Get a box/ file folder to keep all the medical stuff in. ( Home health info, check-ups, surgeries, medical bills, insurance letters, medicine receipts, phone numbers, allergy list, medicine list, dosages, and other needed info.)  Trust me, with all the new medicines, routines and medical people in your life, you will need this info in order to handle your care, and keep everything in check. 

 

4: Brain Fog is real and it will happen. The combo of the high level of pain meds, antibiotics, ICU, sepsis, surgeries and or possible time in a coma or a near coma-like sleep will do a number on your brain and on how much you can focus. It is okay. Do things in steps,  keep notes and let yourself recover from it. It will get better, even if it never goes back to how focused you were before. 

 

5: Swearing is a justifiable thing right now. Remember number one about the anger? Swearing is going to happen.  PT is painful, wound dressings can hurt, healing is not an easy road. You will hit roadblocks and setbacks. Sometimes swearing under your breath while trying to learn to do something you could do before this easily is the only way you CAN get through it.  – Personally, I learned to enjoy finding new ways to curse at people with themost..  vivid imagery as I could pull off.  example: turtle sucking twatwaffle jackalope of a biscuit eating slug puking ego mantic ass hat. 

 

6: Get a recliner. A nice comfy one, with a good footrest. Because you are going to be tired for a long time, and naps well they happen.  And sometimes getting up and down out of a bed just isn’t gonna happen that easily for you. 

 

7: Accept that it’s okay to ask for help. Help to get something from the counter. Help to get out of bed, going to the store.

 

8: Think of three things every day that you are, that makes you who you are. With or with the NF.

9:  You can get through this. We are more than just statistics on a page in black and white. We are mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers. We are friends, aunties, uncles, best friends, and lovers.  We are so much more than the words “NF Survivor”. We are more than what this horrid, wretched fucked up infection took from us. We are so much more than this. 

 

“Rising out of ashes is a common metaphor for overcoming adversity or destruction to create something stronger and more beautiful. It has roots in the mythology of the phoenix that regenerates out of a pile of ashes. “~quote from Genius Lyrics

 

I think everyone who has experienced the worst: bad health,  death, divorce, betrayal, etc all can feel like they have gone through the flames.

I just wanted to say this for people who may need to hear this today:

“you are stronger then you think, and you can do this.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Something a lot of my friends know is that I am a make-up junkie.  I love beauty, glamour, glitter, makeup, sparkle.. and all that jazz.

So I decided to start adding some of that to this blog as well.

Cause there is more to me than just being an NF survivor.

I have hobbies, a life I lead, people I love, and a whole life outside of being ill.

so here is my first review here.

Jeffree Star Blood Lust Swatches:
I prepped my arm for swatches with moisturizer, primer and foundation so that we would see a true swatch.
Finger swatches and brush swatch, because a shadow can behave differently. Each got two swipes on my arm. The color descriptions are from Beautylish.
In order:
  • Your Majesty: Ivory bone with a matte finish
  • Take the Crown: Icy lavender with a metallic finish
  • Deviant: Light lavender with a matte finish
  • Beauty Sleep: Pink with gold reflects and a duo-chrome finish
  • Wet Jewel: Light pink with a wet metallic finish I did three swatches: finger, dry brush, and wet brush! ( finger and wet brush gave the best payoff.)
  • Royal Pain: Red mauve with a matte finish – does stain!
  • Dungeon: Dark plum with a matte finish – Does leave a faint Stain!
  • Scandal Water: Light violet with a matte finish
  • Sworn Enemy: Gold with green reflects and a duo-chrome finish
  • Pink Magic: Hot pink with a wet metallic finish – best pay off with a finger and wet brush.
  • Bleeding Heart: Fire red with a metallic finish Does Stain!
  • Executioner: Black with purple-pink reflects and a duo-chrome finish Dude.. this is so pretty!
  • High King: Berry purple with a matte finish
  • Vivid Mood: Bright lavender with a matte finish
  • Monarchy: Muted brown with a matte finish
  • Blood Queen: Vibrant eggplant with a matte finish
  • Vile Serpent: Teal with a matte finish – Does Stain!
  • Betrayal: Purple with gold reflects and a duo-chrome finish
First impressions:
Really pigmented, I think they will need a little work to blend out, and I need to try the glitter-infused one to see if there is fall out on my face. Your Majesty basically vanishes into my skin tone, cause it’s practically the same shade as my skin, so I can see myself reaching for it a lot! I am looking forward to creating a few new looks with this.
Issues I did have was with the packaging: It is really heavy. The mirror protector was stuck and didn’t tear away cleanly, leaving pieces of it behind. Also, some of the shadows had had fall out on to the packaging before I ever touched any of the shadows. The extreme wet shadows lost the stamp with just swatching, by barely tapping my finger or brush in, which made me sad.
When I have time, I’ll see if I can compare any colors from this palette to Jawbreaker or Conspiracy.

Resolutions

So,  this time of the year, I always try to set up a new resolution for me to attempt to keep for the year. For the past three years, it’s been simple: don’t die. 

 

Well, it’s come to my attention, I’ve been resting on my laurels and I need to push myself to improve. Not just for my physical health (which is crap but I’m working on it) but my mental, emotional, spiritual and social health as well.

 

I got inspired by a friend of mine’s year long quest to only read female authors, listen to female driven music, etc etc. 

 

This year I want to do the following things:

 

1: Grow spiritually. 

Learn more about druidism, being pagan on a new level then I have been and embrace the natural gifts and skills the gods have given me that I tend to shy away from. Be more open to accept that it’s okay not to be perfect. To be more open to the knowedge that I am here for a purpose, even if I don’t exactly know why. Attempt to connect more with nature and the world around me. 

2: Do yoga/dance/ movement three times a week. 

  I’ve been finding youtube videos that I can do in my chair that will help build my core strength (What I have of my core is weak as heck, and needs to be stronger. Sort of happens when they removed a chunk of your abdominal muscles to save your butt.) I’m starting with once a week and moving up to three times a week. I’d like to be able to say by the end of the year I have done at least  50 of these 15-30 minute activities. It may not seem like the biggest challenge ever to most but it’s huge for me.

3: I’d like to read 24 books this year.

 Fiction and nonfiction. Something more than my normal paranormal romance novels, but they count too. Ideally, I’d like to do half of my normal books, and the other half be things I wouldn’t normally tread or things that will push my comfort levels.  Two books a month. I can do this.

 4: I’d like to keep losing weight.

          I am currently at 357.8 pounds. By December 31st, I’d like to be at 299.8. It’s a 58 pound weight lost but over a twelve month time period it’s just under 5 pounds a month. So that is my goal. It’s not a huge number but I think it’s something I can handle. My motivation behind weight loss is about me getting skinny or looking hot. I look pretty damn good as I am. My reasoning is for my health in general. I have spinal issues, muscle issues and nerve issues due to post NF crap.  I don’t want to be in a wheelchair sooner then I have to be. I know I will have my cane on and off for the rest of my life. I’ve come to accept that, but I want to get stronger. 

5:  Do better.  Be better.

Be a better friend, be a better wife. Be a better human being in general.  Be able to try to look in the mirror at the end of the day and say “Today, you did better.”  I know it’s vague but I really don’t have words to describe this.

 6: Don’t die. Really. Don’t die.

This is the big one. The toughie. The one I may not have any control over what so ever, but it’s one that will always be on this list.  Don’t die.

7: It’s okay not to be perfect.

No more freaking out because things aren’t perfect. No more needing things to just be excatly how I see them in my head. no more breaking down cause things aren’t lined up perfect. Life’s not perfect.  I am not perfect, and it’s way past time I be okay with that.

 

So.. whose with me?

Just Don’t. Part 1.

Do not film you doing good. It means you’re not doing it to be a decent person, you are doing to get some sort of notice for it.

It’s not the person who films and announces publicly all their good deeds that is the decent human being. yes they are helping people, but by humiliating others in the process.

The better thing, the more humane, decent thing is to treat that person who you are helping with the same respect YOU would want to be treated if you were in their shoes.

I was homeless for a time in Los Angeles. Nine months. I lived on streets, and in a shelter, then a half way house til I was able to get on my feet properly.

Want to know the things I missed most when I was in that place?

A home, a bed of my own, space that just for me, respect, self-worth, pride.

It takes so much strength to go and ask for help, to go “hey, I need help, I need food, or I need socks, or hey, can I get quarter so I can get to the shelter before it closes so I don’t have to sleep on the streets and possibly get hurt.”

Show them some damn respect, give them some dignity, and don’t humiliate them by filming them in a place when they are at one of the lowest places of their life, just so you can get praise for giving them a burger or a few bucks.

Don’t be that Asshat. Just don’t.

Does it steal your soul?

So, it’s 6 35 am on December 16, 2018.

I’m listening to music on YouTube, reading Facebook, trying to get sleep.

Then, I read a blog post from a ten year survivor of NF, and I read it once, then twice then I have to pause to think, to consider her question to the group I am in that supports mentally, survivors of NF and caretakers and mourn those who did not make it.

Her question, which I am sure you want to know was this:

How is it that it takes a part of your soul, too?

I had to pause, and think about this for a minute and I realized the question was wrong.

The Question be:

How do we keep going when it steals apart of your soul?”

I say that is the question I need to ask, because, I know part of me is gone, and I’m never getting it back, not the way I was before.

Now before anyone thinks I’m being poor pitiful me, you can just toss that idea out.

This is me, telling you my story, my feeling.. how I feel about all of this.

I’ll put it like this:

Before, I was a pretty vibrant, active human being. I could get two weeks of food in 45 minutes solo at Wal-mart easy, no help. I could even put everything away solo. I could easily do the dishes, do the laundry, pick my cat up with no strain. I was able to walk to Jon market for something, and I could even easier walk tot he farmer’ market to by fancy goat cheese and a snow cone. I could clean my old apartment solo and run and get the mail. I could go to Ren fair with out worrying out my body is going to function while I’m there and my biggest worry for a day trip was keeping an inhaler in case something goes wrong. I was loosing weight, and wearing my first ever designer jeans, and sporting bold two toned blue hair and I was looking forward to going swimming with people a month later right before my 39th birthday. I had no worries and I was happy.

Then I died, NF came, Sepic shock… and every thing went insane.

Now: It’s a daily routine of countless meds, and needles and dealing with pain, and gritting my teeth and pretend everything is good when the pain is almost too much to bear. I fight depression and feeling as if I’m not worthy of the fact Iam here when so many did not make it. Walking hurts, my cane is always close by forlonger things, Walmart is still on the power cart because It’s too much to go though walmart solo yet.

Good things to have discovered: My strength is real, and I’ve earned it. I finally believe I am tenacious, as my friend Carolyn has said for literally years now. I have a good strong group of friends who actually love me and support me and have my back even when I’m in the weeds. My marriage is strong, and my partner in my life has never stopped being here, though out the roller coaster ride. I no longer care if anyone likes me, as long as I like me.

Things that hasn’t changed:

I am a smart ass, sassy, swearing, unicorn loving glitter wearing diva of awesome. I am still a pagan who loves her patrons dearly, and respects them. I still like Taylor swift songs and dancing in my office, just now, it’s in my chair.

The question was” how does it steal part of your soul?”

my question was” how can it not?”

In my case, I died. Organs began to fail, parts of my body were removed as my cells betrayed their normal purpose and mutated to try and keep me dead.

I firmly believe that death, and returning from it, changes who you are, changes how you see things. I appreciate things I took for granted before; Things like rain, walking, showers, lipstick. Before, I took things for granted, and let things bother me faster. Now, if a pan get burnt or I burn cookies, I shrug it off, cause over all..it’s not that big of a deal anymore.

I also want more out of life, not just for me but for others now, because I have realized how fucking lucky and blessed I am to be here.

So yes, NF stole part of my soul, however I think that missing piece made me be grateful for what I have left.

NF has taken so much from me, but what is left, is stronger, braver a hell of lot tougher because I’ve seen the worst place for a human to be at, and unlike so many others, I’m still here, and I’m still fighting.

I won’t say I am not bruised or not tired on more days then I want to admit to. I have scars, and wounds that may never heal from all of the fighting to be. However, my scars show I lived. My bruises, cuts scrapes and open wounds show I am not giving up. My tears show I still have a human heart that feels for others and yes, mourns for losts both personal and of the world left behind.

So the answer to my question, how can it not steal part of your soul? The answer is clear: It did, it does.

The question is now, what do you do with what you have left?