Sincerely, Stacy

Why must you need evidence to believe something at face value? If I tell you I am in chronic pain, why must you see a cane or wheelchair? If I cancel plans because I need to rest, why must you roll your eyes in silent contempt? If I lay in bed, despite hearing the dog barking or cat meowing, then hearing the angry feet of the others who must take care of them, why must you believe I am making the pain up because I am lazy?

If I could, I would fly. Imagine my arms reaching out, gliding through nature that I have only dreamed of. Seeing blues, reds, pinks of the flowers, then seeing the same colors in the sky. Imagine seeing the cultures I long to see but have to settle for on TV or magazines. Imagine the wind in my hair, unknowingly smiling like I used to do when I was on the old park swings.

I have pain and it is real. It is debilitatingly real. Do I have things to offer in this world? I’d like to think so, but whatever I am or decide to do, I will not suffer silently and allow others to question my abilities or doubt for one second that I am useless. I will take my time. I will know my limits. I will choose my fate or destiny or whatever may happen in the future.

This “drain on society”, or reason to bitch about Medicare costs, I have to stand above it. For me, for mom, for everyone who can’t stand up for themselves. I will be heard and seen to the point of annoyance.

That’s my hope right now.

Sincerely,

Stacy

#pain#chronicpain#peoplearemean#peopledon’tunderstand#quiethell#keepdreaming

My sister and I caused both of you trouble, my sister a little more so than me, but all in all, we were good kids. We were taught rules like:

• If you weren’t happy with what was made for dinner, you were more than welcome to make something for yourself, BUT be sure you still eat at the dinner table with the family
• When leaving the house or apartment, be sure to let someone know where you are going and who you are going with. Approximate time of your return was also appreciated
• Be sure to let your friends know they will be questioned or forced to play a card game when first meeting my parents. Dates and boyfriends were primarily subjected to the card games with mom, which I later learned, terrified them
• BE RESPECTFUL: To all. We don’t know a person’s story, how their day has been, what mood they are in, or if they are just hateful assholes. Give it time before you decide about people.
• THERE ARE HATEFUL ASSHOLES OUT THERE: For every person who spoke louder and slower to mom because she was in a wheelchair, she never lost her temper. She would make a smart-ass remark back that inevitably went over the person’s head, but mom remained in charge.

All in all, Amy and I did out best to abide by the above rules, and the others that aren’t listed. I have the utmost respect for both of my parents, even when dad drives me crazy (mom passed years ago, so she doesn’t really try my patience anymore).

With all that being said, I have to talk about something I see/hear on a regular basis. My dad, nephew, and I live in what I always considered to be a nice neighborhood, but, when you get woken at some seriously ungodly hour of the morning by screaming neighbors, and it interrupts my sleep, we are going to have a problem.

When a child under 10, you know, strike that. When any child can look at a parent and call them an asshole or bitch, the child needs attending to. He needs help. When that same child is on the roof or when he is trying to stuff one of his friends in a trash bin, there appears to be an indicator that somewhere that child got lost and needs helped to be found again.

The kid is evil and has started controversy between at least three households now. The father, whom I do have a soft spot for, works hard all day, but comes home, gets drunk and either falls asleep or starts shit with his girlfriend. The girlfriend spends her entire day, please know this this is not an exaggeration, with her head down in her phone. I don’t know what she does all day, but when the boyfriend comes home, she wants to go have drinks with her friends. What??

I could go on and on about pure negligence on both sides, but this is enough to prove my point and ask a question: Are kids getting away with too much today? When is it okay to have outsiders intervene?

I’m thrilled that I was raised by not only my parents, but my friends’ parents also. If I did something bad, I would have lectures from Miss Sandra, Miss Patti, Miss Anette, and Miss Kathy before I got to my mom. Was it a pain in the ass? I thought so at the time. Now I wish desperately we could go back to a time that it was the norm.

Amy and I didn’t become serial killers or even bad people, so, my parents, you can be proud of that. But I would keep an eye on that neighbor kid…he’s likely to smother you in your sleep. ** This is your positive affirmation of the day **

Sincerely, Stacy

12/16/2022

I have a nurse that comes to monitor me. I don’t want to get into why I have this occurs, but every week, it does. She called the night before to inform me that she would be at the house between 9:30 to 10:00am. Fine.

I have a morning routine that includes making sure the dog has food and water, making sure the cat has food, taking the dog outside (on a leash for my own safety), and making sure the dog doesn’t eat the cat.

I finished at about 9:10 and realized Luna had no rawhides, a favorite for her. She was whining, piercing my soul, so I figured I still had time to run to the store, literally under a mile away.

In no way did I appear to be awake. My hair had not been brushed, I was wearing my sweatpants, a 7-Up tee-shirt. My pain is significant all the time, so I was walking with a noticeable limp and grimace on my face.

I hobbled down and grabbed the rawhides and an extra ham bone (she’s my girl and she deserves it).

I got in the “About 12 items or Less” line, behind a man, who obviously, can’t count. He may have read that sign as “21 Items or Less”. Still pushing it, sir. Had he had not looked at planned purchases before the cashier began ringing his items, and looked at me, it wouldn’t have felt as personal, but he turned to the cashier and asked her if Ritz crackers were part of the BOGO deal. She said she thought so and continued ringing and bagging. She finally packed everything up and presented the bill. He wanted to contest his bill because the Ritz crackers did not ring has “BOGO”, when the cashier assured him that they would, (which is inaccurate, as she thought they were).

Ring for supervisor. No, the Ritz crackers are not part of that promotional advertising. He, again, began to talk about how the cashier said they were Buy One, Get One. In my mind, I am screaming: THE CASHIER MADE A MISTAKE. YOU AREN’T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE IN THIS FUCKING LANE. PAY FOR THE FUCKING CRACKERS AND MOVE ON WITH LIFE.

But I didn’t.

The grocery store decided it would be a good idea to open up another lane and told the person behind me that she could go to Lane 3. I actually became loud and asked if I could be in Lane 3 and the person agreed. My transaction was under two minutes. Tops.

I got home to the nurse sitting in her car, waiting for me. We walked into the house together and when I checked the clock, I realized I was at the store for about half an hour. I tried to keep my composure and incessantly apologized. Strange, my blood pressure was high.

Would it have been so hard to turn to me in line and said, “You only have two items in your hands, why don’t you go ahead of me”. I do it. My dad does it.

Some people are horrible, selfish assholes. Mental note.

So, to the random Food Lion shopper that could help out a disabled woman and who doesn’t give a damn about the rules, I say: Fuck you and learn some respect.

Sincerely, Stacy

Dear reader,

My name is Stacy. My friends say I am funny, sarcastic, kind, patient, blah, blah, blah. I appreciate their feelings but, in my mind, I don’t believe them. I have terrible thoughts, things I want to say or scream…but I keep everything inside.

I tend to write letters when I am angry, which is why I am choosing this format; it’s familiar to me.

I live in Delaware, I’m 42, and live with my dad (75) and nephew (22). I get the impression that neither of them really gives a damn about me. I can see it. He has a violent temper and will throw things, then wonder why things aren’t in the correct place. Cameron has no motivation to do anything. He has had three jobs, all of which I obtained in getting for him. He currently is back at FedEx, and I rarely see him. He will come out of his room to yell at me, dad, and/or the dog, Luna. He thought it would be a brilliant idea to remove his bedroom door and put a blanket up instead. Now, he complains about us being too loud. I smile and tell him we will keep it down, while in my head I am telling him to put up his fucking door and maybe we won’t have a problem.

Mom and my sister, Amy, both passed away. They currently reside on the mantle above the fireplace. I write lots of letters to them, too.

You will learn more about me and hopefully you will respond favorably.

Sincerely,

Stacy