I have no idea why I went looking for mortality rates for people with the defective gene I have, but I did. And I already seem to have beaten the mean age of death (think it's 36). Now, I am always the person up for a challenge, the person trying to prove people wrong, the person seeking facts to support my viewpoint. I constantly comment on social media articles with links to other articles to support my assertions, but something about seeing that number written down kind of fucked me up. I mean, JESUS of COURSE I am dying young, but it's literally only over the past few weeks where I see the light for the life, and I feel a slight bewildered and yes, a tiny bit hopeless seeing those numbers on paper. It's like, shit....I am most assuredly winding down and my opportunities to get what I thought life would be able to lend me are definitely slipping through my fingers.
I am not giving up, no, but with the information out there, I am an anomaly already with the sheer number of dissections and strokes I have survived. And the brain is where I have ...
You know, it's been pretty damn hard for me to rationalize the great betrayal that happened a few years ago now. To get legitimately thrown away and ignored was not a thing that was easy for me to stomach and I have had wavering feelings of forgiveness and hate which have kept me steady in my vision to really get the hell out of here and leave that chapter for good. I suppose I should thank my birth mother for the snappy sendoff. Granted there might have been less painful ways to do it, I dunno, a fucking conversation might have been less caustic to my general well-being and development, and easier to forgive. But, you can't do much aside from control your own reactions to shit. And I have been honest-to-god better trusting who has not broken that trust. That being Don, and really my birth father. He's actually a really excellent person who has been there for us when we were really fucked, and ultimately has been our saving grace when literally everyone else was basically telling us to burn in hell.
Granted, he's told me he's often terrible with emotional support, but that's Don's realm. and ...
Things have changed a bit over the past week. Don is doing really well in his job, is liked and has a lot to contribute to the work they are doing. I have honestly never heard him so hopeful and happy, probably ever before. Where he is, there is no time to smoke cigarettes, nor any place, so he quit that. Yeah. I am married to a former smoker, as he has quit now. That's been his business, and though I was certainly never a fan, I am not someone interested in controlling another person. We had a filter for him to smoke inside when he did, an industrial warehouse version in a thousand square feet. He quit the other things being in Colorado entails as well, from drinking to the smoking of the obvious.
Not to be left behind, I also locked away the weed. I haven't had alcohol in days, which is most definitely a change as well. We both have been sweating our asses off as of late--sleeping while coming off an addiction is pretty difficult. And weed and alcohol are definitely things I would say were more frequent than exercise or really much, aside from ...
