A little bit more...

Aren't there quite enough programs for 'precious' humans? 

Fucking really?

I told you in the previous post that I was back.  So, I wanna know. Are there plenty of government funded outlets for humans to flourish in?

Want commodities? ...have babies

Want free dental? ....squeeze out a few puppies

Want medical insurance?  ....pop out some precious kiddos

Want sustainability? Stop eating carrion.

Want to end suffering? Educate your precious fucking self, and spend some time with the truth, the fucking truth is out there,

No, it isn't scandalous and sexy lesbo or bi action. No, it isn't glorified and coveted polyAmory or alternative lifestyle. No, sorry, it isn't an new app....

It's lambs and elephants...butchered and hacked at.  It's lions and pets destroyed and disregarded.  It is a domestic dog filmed and uploaded to stream live while a group of dîck less fucking humans torture and kill it with the cunning use of fireworks,

Fuck you, humanity, you a re an illusion, and illusion perpetuated by other humans. You do not exist.

And fuck you for your apathy.

#ashamedtobehuman

I am feral. I was raised feral, and remain so. For a brief few years I allowed the government and media to domesticate me. That ship has sailed.  I am back, feral and wild. And fuck you.

Bereft of everything...

I am disgusted with the human race.  I am ashamed to be a part of it.  Since so many individuals are segregating themselves into neat little groups like trans, or poly...I think I am going to separate myself from the human animal.  I am just an animal.

I am not religious, however I am beginning to wonder if the 'lack of God' is the actual root cause of the state of the current world I live in.

After signing animal rights petition after petition, I question the rampant sadism.

Do we live in a throw away world? An upgrade life?

What the fuck is wrong with us that we need wool coats that buy wool from Argentinian sheep farms that skin sheep alive and mutilate lambs? Really?

Call dr. Fucking lector, because as a society we need some fucking help.  

We have no one, or nothing to answer to/for.  We are completely autonomous...yet some use their human power for evil.  

Some fucking 19 yo bitch in N.J. Killed her family dog with the cunning use of bashing its fucking head in with a claw hammer and shovel.  And then, just cos she could, she bragged about it to her friend.  What the fuck?

We are just sort of 'fine' with this sort of behavior? Or, are we so fucking self obsessed and too busy taking mastuabatory selfies in our fucking bathroom mirrors to care? 

We are fucking scum.

And, fuck it, why not? Some fucking asshead tightly taped his dogs muzzle together, and just sort of let it go...it was still a puppy, too. Kind of makes it extra special.

Being humans, most of us are ok with cruel shit happening to adult animals.

...dead cat, dead dog...

But we really get pissy if it is a kitten or puppy.

At least we have that.

Fucking scum.

I am so ashamed to be a human.

I really am.

Burn bunnies eyes out for shampoo....fuck you.

Skin live sheep for your pea coat....fuck you.

I am so angry right now...in this day and age of Internet and wifi access...people still can't have some fucking empathy?

In a world of fake tits and nose jobs, can we NOT murder millions of animals on a daily basis?  Really! 

That fucking douche bag dentist that killed Cecil with the help of a lure, jeep, spot light, cross bow, semi automatic weapon, and two lock guides....really?

That shit exists today?

Basement dwellers.

Every second of every day matters.  It fucking matters.

Big deal you cell phone needs to be recharged, some lamb kidnapped from its mother just had its tail sliced off for your fucking seasonal coat?

Really. That's today. Every second you spend picking out the most flattering filter for your duck lip selfie.

Of, fuck you, humans.  I loathe myself because of you. I abborh me, because I am here...existing...with no tail to slice off. No wool to covet. No ivory to poach for. No trophy.

#peta #ashamedtobehuman #animalrights #fuckingyousoulessscumbags

Revivify....

I am back.  No, really.  Who I was.  Before all.....this.  ('This' being the ms monster.)

I've made hugely rewarding changes in my life. Epic.

A little back story...animal welfare was my rubric.

For well over a decade, I was not only a vegetarian but also an animal advocate.  A peta member, supporter, word spreader and donator.  I supported the animal liberation front.  I donated anything I could. I bought cruelty free products and boycotted animal tested brands.  Etc....mostly etc.  I was an avid blood donor, but had many issues with anemia.  

I was diagnosed with ms in 2000.  I was advised to step up and incorporate vitamins to supplement my diet. 

I wanna say out of the gate, I am pig headed. Determined. I don't give up. I am not a quitter. I don't stop. I just keep going.  I suppose I can abstractly relate to rocky balboa.  I take hits...and I get up swinging.

The ms knocked me on my ass, turned my life upside down, made me feel like a pussy.  After almost a year of infusions, dr visits, MRIs, working about 60 hrs a week, doing what I could for my brother and sister, doing anything I could for my grandparents...I was fucking frayed.  I felt lost, lonely, alienated.  I sought connection, and escape.  I was overwhelmed.  I was drowning and looking for a lifeboat.

Flash forward.

For whatever reason, at the time, I began eating meat again.  I stopped looking at manufacturers when I purchased dish detergent and shampoo.  I started buying new clothes and leather shoes.  I became a person I would have simultaneously hated and pitied.

I have renewed.  In the course of almost 4 months of depression free life, my lens became clear again.  My mood stability is paramount.  A Suicidal ideation confession was the catalyst to painful decisions.

And now, I remember who I was.  I was and am an empath.  I was and am a vegetarian.  I was and am an introvert.  I was and am passionate about the welfare of animals. 

I never was, but now I am active on social media.  I have to say, in the world of social media, people in general suck.  I could give a fuck about your filtered selfies of your new hair.  I could give a fuck about your arbitrary post about your quinoa salad.  I could give a fuck about your legs in a bubble bath pic.  Sheep. Mindless herd.  Media babies.  Cells a permanent fixture in their hands, head downcast and eyes staring.  I could give a fuck if you think someone is hot, including yourself.  

Who I was, and who I am now has bigger fish to fry than some viral video, some tawdry fad, or some crap series.  Some fucking morons say YOLO. You only live once.  

Not me.  I live EVERY fucking day.  Until I die.

I don't need cheap thrills for gratification.  I need nourishment.  Enrichment.

And I cannot blame ms for eating meat for the past 8 years.  But, I can say that it was a part of it. 

Or not

She was having a certain level of difficulty pin pointing the exact moment it had started.  She knew that it started somewhere.  Everything else always did.  Perhaps it had been an instant during the abysmal summer that she could not smile.  Not even if she had wanted to.  Everyone smiles...every now and then.  She didn't smile for over a year.  If she had, her face would have cracked like a dry lump of clay turned brittle.  Clay can't always house a pretty plant.  When clay is bad, it's bad.  Cumbersome, it fit her well in her perdition.  Clay hell.  It wasn't even a blessing in disguise as I might have hoped for, had i given a shit about her.  No.  It would just have broken apart and revealed nothing.  Cracking an eggshell and finding no phlegmy whites, no sticky mustard yolk...just an ossuary.  Who builds a clay mask for a headless person?  I think she did that summer.  Part of the reason she couldn't recall the hour it had started was this;  she could not keep track of days.  Her days were mainly constructed of water or some other liquid.  They easily blended into one another in the oceanic way fluid does.  She had no land mass hunks of life that she could use to coordinate her position.  Her Tuesday was a copy of her Saturday- discerning from them was dependent upon the weather.  If she looked outside and saw bits of snow falling from the sky she knew that it was winter. She could remeber that it had snowed on Saturday.  She always drove me fucking nuts with her superfluous moods.  She had told me once that she felt like a piece of lint, floating.  But that you can only see lint when it passes through a ray of sunshine coming from a window.  I knew she wasn't that weightless.  No, she was heavy.  A densely weighted thing that just was sort of there.  She couldn't have been any more there than if she had given birth to herself, over and over for infinity.  During one of her flinty moods, I watched her.  She kept bringing things in and leaving them there.  I couldn't tell you why.  It wasn't really like her.  But, when she was in this mood, she would.  I suppose I assumed that she was attempting to fill of the empty space up.  Maybe she felt empty...but, anyway it pisses me off.  It has become my life mission to make this piece of moody lint happy.  Even if she never smiles.

Because you're most likely dead...

I understand you and I know why you do the things that you do.  And boy oh boy, you sure gotta admit how scary being understood is.  Easily typed, but it is true.  Yeah, I know you.  I know why you feel anxious and sketchy.  I understand you now.  I have wanted to go head to head with you for so long.  Yet now, we are intertwined.  I know what goes on in your fucking head.  I know why theses thoughts are there.  And I know why you think them over and over.  It is them.  Not us.  They do not understand.  We do.  We see clearly.  Speak sharply.  Act defiantly.  We know the fucking score and want to crush the fuckers keeping it.  The big picture.  Full view.  Don't be bummed.  It was predetermined.  Destiny.  Fate wove us on this cloth of time eons ago.  The universe has had it in for us.  It's been a long time coming.  We get the grim harsh lessons.  We feel the pain.  We taste the blood.  We know who we cannot trust.  We are attacked from behind.  Barbed wire words hurled to snare us.  We are elusive- they are closing in fast.  We have to admit it all now.  Time to fess up.  No more hiding behind false idols.  I know it's all coming down now.  The proverbial shit is hitting the fan.  When they see us they will attack.  They fear the truth.  I know you see it too.  It can all be over in seconds.  It is just something that we need to come to terms with.  At least we know...think of it that way.  Think of truth.  Fuck their consequences.  They are not real.  They are a facade.  They wear masks.  They speak fictional sentences.  We can continue.  We can plunge forward forsaking the rest. Fuck this pathetic society.  Now it's just me and you.  That's the real shit.

Doctors for nihilists....not dummies

They have all the lettered name badges, they have all the answers.
They have all the walls filled will all of the paperwork...
All the answers.

They have the insight, in the first 15 minutes...
They peer deep into your cracks with their tongue depressors and they can see it clearly.
They can fix you.  Not your physical self. No- they are gonna fix your plumbing...the stuff hidden behind painted cupboard doors.

They can't find the leak without peeking, can they?

Maybe the see a reflection of themselves in the murky puddle of your insides. Maybe they catch a glimpse of their cold, hardened stare.
Maybe they will only see it because they are self obsessed. Maybe they self medicate via proxy.  Maybe you're one of their hundred proxies.

Hey, proxy- are you sick of it yet?  Are you fed up with the fat, tired, aloof, detached, nuts, over analytical, chain smoking, lazy, stinking, fucked up doctors?  

You see clearly.  And they want to give you glasses.  Nice rosy ones.  They kind of glasses that cover the shit in a thick coat of saccharine.  Doctors that don't even believe 1/3 of what they are saying.

Like a god they stand wielding the power of your folder, thick with charts and test results, little notes to themselves of advice they have given you; reads like scripture.  Like a choir of fucking Angels singing their words.

And 15 minutes is past, and now they can see into your soul.

."..yeah sure, tai chi works" (he tells me....the crippled chick) I tell him that if I could do tai chi, I would need my wheelchair or cane.

Keep rowing your bottomless boat, and I'll keep kicking my legs to hold my head above water.

This is the reality.  I don't want pills to deal with any of it.  I could give a fuck about going to therapy.  I am not negative, I am the reality.  If anyone has a notion that negativity prompted this, you can suck it.  The hard facts of life are the only prompts.

The doctor...the self proclaimed: one man wolf pack, boat rowing, martial artist, Confucius spewing- fucking whatever.  He can keep quoting that horse shit to his other patients and I am sure, with the given mentality of the majority of people, he will someday be a wealth of inspiration to some poor fucker someday.  The douche bag.

His coldness didn't affect me, I actually prefer it.  But I think of all the poor misguided morons that believe him.  They take all of his spieled shit and get all misty and inspired and empowered.
Sorry bastards.

Imagine if that did it for me?  ...some douche bag, Canadian doctor, working at a walk in clinic for Medicaid and Medicare patients, spewing his pearls of wisdom.  Wow.
Imagine if I were mentally feeble and bought into the shit he was saying? I thought he was mystifying?  I had at least 3 catharsis' by the time I got home. Nope.
Repeat what you hear/see/read.  That's all we do.

As a patient that has disdain for pep talks, I am an oyster that produces its own pearls, and that doctor is no good at shucking.

I was defensive because I needed to be.

He pointed at me, sitting in my wheelchair, and said that I was depressed. Just like that. In minutes.  Knowing nothing about me.  First meeting.  He ain't much for peeling layers.  What a fucking asshole.

Bah, I am sick of venting about that ridiculous bullshit.  It is thick and sticky and has a tendency to coat everything..

Btw, the super doctor only quoted great minds.

so, yeah....the vest works....

no shit.

it really does.  i mean, i aint running...i aint jogging....

no, alas.... my victories and gains from this device are more along the lines of:

1.  i can stand without falling.
2. i can raise my arms above my head, while standing, and do not face plant.
3. i can walk, awkwardly, without a can for short distances...oh, and did i mention? ...without falling.
4. i can march in place.  (yeah, my legs were just a shocked as i was to be marching in place)


theres more, but i am over the whole listing thing.  i am just gonna spew it out.

so, we arrive (after 7 fucking long hours in a godddamn prius) my legs and body were sooo cramped, very tight leg muscles. ugh. tin man needs the oil can....
i get in the room with Craig for the assessment.  I have to demonstrate how i stand from sitting, how i stand, how i walk, a little evoked potentials, etc.

then he tests the lumbar belt, and asks me to stand.  and honestly, even though while i was attempting to stand, as standing from sitting can be challenging...before i knew it, i was standing.  didnt use my hands, not at all.
Glenn was sitting there, and saying WOW....
so, he asked me to stand comfortably...try to look straight ahead, instead of at the floor....try not to hold onto anything....
while i couldnt stand straight, look straight ahead without holding on to something, what i COULD do was stand straighter, with less visible spasticity.  nice.

then, he put the vest on me, asked me to stand, then proceeded in pushing me in different directions to test balance. at one point, i came crashing face first into his glasses. yahoo.

then, he started weighting me. trying small weights in strategic points on my shoulders, chest, torso, low back, etc...

all the while pushing me.

...finally, he could push me, and i could catch myself and regain my balance. yep. no fucking shit.


and, i talked to the guy who made my vest...i already have my own vest.

I saw craig for the assessment on tuesday, he ordered my vest, and we went to pick it up that following saturday.  AND, craig was nice enough to meet us half way....

uber nice.

so, yeah....in summary:

while walking is still very difficult, it is easier and less scary.  I am very anxious about falling, and this vest gives me a feeling of security. I feel much more centered.
I have wicked bad spasticity, drop foot, and numb feet...all of which are not aided with the vest...but, and this is a big BUT, i am seriosuly hopeful that with practice....it could become even easier to walk.

I figure, like crutches. when you first break a leg and get crutches, you can look like an idiot using them...and they are awkward, and foriegn....
but, after a month or so, you are a pro....a fucking crutch master....they become an extension of you....

so, hopefully, in a month or so....i, too will be a vest master.  i wont even have to go and train in a swamp with a little green guy...

well....i am not succinct, and i wander around in thought...so, hopefully you can understand my jumbled crap blog post.

the vest shows marked improvement in my mobility....

there. the the point.

oh, p.s.

i played mother fucking CROQUET last friday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i know, right?  (it probably wasnt pretty or graceful...but i did it.  came in second because my brother had some hidden croquet skill.......................

but....i.....did.....it.  two games, actually.

if anyone reads my shitty little neglected blog.......you should get assessed for the vest.