the bionic girl/woman?

As aforementioned in a previous post  I now have fairly large pieces of metal in my body for the rest of my life.  I have become the bionic woman, or so my family says.  I started thinking,  I am halfway to 30, more than old enough to be considered  a  woman.  That being said I don’t feel much like one most of the time.Most  of the women my age  have more to show for their lives than me. I feel stuck in some kind of  horrible nightmare that I can’t escape.Every time I think that maybe my life might finally be going in a direction I could be happy with something happens and my carefully constructed sugar spun dream that I managed to build in spite of my pessimistic self disappears as though it never was.  I used to think that everything would turn out the way that they are supposed to. The longer I live the more I think I  was wrong. At best the universe or God call it whatever you wish has nothing at all to do with us and everything we go through is totally random and there is no logical reason for the stuff I’ve had to put up with, or He/She/It/They enjoys seeing me on an emotional roller coaster. I’m not sure which I’d rather be true.  If God does exist there are only five things in this world that give me the smallest bit of hope that I am not despised.

My theological tangent is done I promise.  My point is that because of my numerous setbacks to living on my own I have a hard time seeing myself as an adult sometimes. I had to reschedule an appointment today and I almost handed the  phone to mom on reflex when the receptionist called. I don’t know how I feel. I’m caught in a cats cradle of contradictions every thread  is someone’s expectation of me,  very few of which I think I’m going to be able to live up to.

So, girl or woman? I have called myself both but I am honestly not sure which I consider myself. Perhaps beauty is not the only thing that is in the eye of the beholder.


thoughts on bravery

It has  been almost 3 weeks since I broke my legs. It is a definite inconvenience.  I  have been  thinking a lot though. I never cried, not in the ambulance or the emergency room, or after surgery.  I swore a purple streak though. I lost track of how many times people said  I was brave.  The day after I returned home I saw a plaque which read “bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid.” People can project the emotions they want others to see.My disability makes me appear more vulnerable then most people any way I was not going to make that misconception  stronger by crying.  There is also a phrase, “fake  it until you make it.”Sometimes bravery is just good acting.

the aftermath of rough play

In case anybody who reads my blog has been wondering why I’ve been gone let me catch you up to speed. On the night of Sept. 30 I  broke both of my legs in a grand total of three places, the femur in my left leg and the two shorter bones in my right leg. The accident was horse related and I’d was in no way the fault  of my horse, it was strictly my errors in judgment which resulted in my injuries. The end result is that I have a rod in one leg and plates and screws in the other, and can no longer undergo MRI’s . Besides that its business as usual folks.