Archive for the ‘Navy’ Category

I don’t know what’s been with me lately, but I’ve really jumped into this being 40 thing. I finally realized that I skipped the Adulting upgrades from 1.0 to 2.0 and most of the 3.0 upgrade. For whatever reason, Life just kept letting me pass and move forward like a poor kid falling through the cracks of the education system.

As can be referenced in my previous blog post “Option Paralysis,” my M.O. is pretty consistent in regards to my financial (and other stressful) problems. I stick my head in the sand like an ostrich and hope that in my ignoring of the problem that it will just go away. Of course, that’s not generally how things work. And for some reason I’m starting to take responsibility rather than running away.

It probably has something to do with the amount of support groups, therapy sessions and Step Work I’ve been working on for almost a year. October 22 will be my anniversary of Recovery work. Even though my sobriety is not as long lasting as the work I have put in, it’s ok. “Progress not perfection,” right? It doesn’t mean I haven’t learned some pretty incredible things. I’m in Step Four right now, which I’ve barely even begun and it’s brutal already. “One Day at a Time” is probably the most well-known slogan out there. I definitely have days like that; sometimes I have “one hour at a time” and even “One Minute at a time.” A lot of people do. I feel like I can’t even concentrate on someone’s three minute share sometimes. But that’s neither here nor there as this post is about my positive current experiences, not the rough road of Recovery.

I’ve noticed how I have had a more relaxed outlook on things; I’m not so uptight. But don’t mistake my kindness for weakness – I am more honest with others when I feel I need to say something and when I need to set boundaries for my own good. I’m less apt to let others take advantage of me and my vices. It’s probably like the slogan “Let Go and Let God,” although my Higher Power does not have the name “God.” But I understand and it’s not as difficult for me to substitute the word “God” with “Higher Power” as it was at the end of last year. Gratefully, I had some experience in another 12-Step program a few years ago that helped me identify what I understand my Higher Power to be.

One of the things I noticed on my first go round with the Twelve Steps was that they are great life lessons. Even if you don’t have an addiction, the philosophy behind the steps is valuable for anyone and everyone. Kind of like my oft-recommended literary favorite “How to Win Friends and Influence People” by Dale Carnegie. I hear and learn things in “the rooms” that seep into my subconscious and some things are a bit less subtle; I can feel that I am changing inside and I’m really ready to embrace these changes, for once.

Yesterday, instead of ignoring the voicemail telling me to call Sprint for “an important notification about the status of [my] account” I listened to it and actually acted upon it. I owe so much money that I have no way of paying until the first of the month. I called and tried to see about what was possible for payment plans and it was indeed, an option. What a wonderful surprise! The other day I tried it with my bank as well. I had two insufficient funds fees leaving me with a -$5 balance. Of course being on a fixed income, that is devastating when I won’t be paid for another 2 weeks. Well, I called up the bank and explained my situation and wouldn’t you know it? They reversed not just one, but both of those fees and I was able to go to Ralph’s and buy some TV dinners. Good times. Both of these things would have had negative outcomes had I not asked. And like “they” say, the answer to any question you don’t ask is always going to be “no.”

I’m also taking my nutritional intake pretty seriously. I’ve lost about nine pounds in the last month or two. I walked my roommate’s bike to the shop yesterday to get the tires filled with air so I could start riding it. I need to find an excuse to get on it every day, just to incentivize myself to do so. I know I shouldn’t have to, but I also know myself. I have to take more responsibility for my actions (or lack thereof). It’s as though the big 4.0 came with a side order of “Grow the Fuck Up.” Frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about that, since I’m running the 4.0 on the 2.0 operating system. I just don’t feel old enough to be doing all this Adulting. Which is pretty ridiculous as most people I know (who are my age) are married with kids, and/or well into their career, if not straight up retired, by now. Not to mention the handful of them that have unfortunately even died. This is the year.

Point is, I’m pulling myself up by my bootstraps and finally starting to get my shit together. It’s about fucking time.

You're Almost There

You’re almost there…

“But it’s over now. It must have been good, but I lost it somehow. It must have been love, but it’s over now. From the moment we touched, ’til the time had run out…”

This past Monday night I severed a tie that was seemingly unconditional and as eternal as a sapphire would have you believe. Earlier, I had learned that my comic idol, Robin Williams, had reportedly killed himself that morning. Both of which happened while I was in San Diego saying goodbye to my second family who have welcomed me into their lives for the last six years, who were now moving to Washington on military orders. Any of those, individually, would make one hellacious day. All three together? I’m surprised I made it through the day without a psychotic break. And afterwards I still drove two hours home to Los Angeles and the Comedy Store to drink a shot to the dearly departed.

But it’s that first one that cuts me to the quick the deepest. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of hoping and truly believing that the fantasy in my head and in my heart was to come to pass – someday. More than half of my adult life I thought things would work out a certain way with a certain man, so I allowed myself to be misled, mostly by my own wishful thinking and delusions of grandeur. This relationship was my everything and I allowed it to consume me. Most of how I live my day-to-day is based on the huge influence he has been to my life. I like certain things because of him, I dislike certain things because of him, but mostly I hurt myself because of him. He was always more important to me than I ever was to myself. I enabled him in his own addictions and he enabled me in my addiction to him. What we thought was symbiotic and mutually beneficial was parasitic instead.

He’s known all along that I loved him and that I’ve been in love with him for more than half the time we’ve known each other. And I’ve always known that he loves me, but he’s not in love with me – never has been, in fact. And I never cared. I did know however, that it wasn’t anything against me (which kept hope alive)… it was that he wasn’t going to get involved with anyone seriously while he was still in the military. When he retired, he could give 100% to family. He had always encouraged me not to wait for him and not to pass up happiness with someone else, if I ever found it. The few times I thought I “met someone else” and was happy, he was genuinely happy for me but the relationship would fail at some point and my heart would fall back in love with him with the greatest of ease.

Through the years, what little he could give me was always good enough for me. I took anything he would give me and somehow my hope would thrive off of it. That was until mid-October 2010 when I had to stop our physical relationship, because I was just not getting what I needed from him emotionally anymore due to other life events he experienced. I thought I needed time away from him and I thought I could do it because it killed me that I rarely saw him anymore due to work and living arrangements (“You know I love you, but I’m In Too Deep,” as Genesis put it so succinctly). Unbeknownst to me, this is when the relationship became an unseen cancer that would grow untreated for years. The stages of grief came and oscillated from anger and depression to bargaining and denial – never acceptance. That lasted only 3 months until in a drunken stupor I called him on Christmas Eve at midnight in tears because I missed him so much I could have died. We began a short lived Christmas morning tradition of having breakfast together. We were friends again – the best of friends, in fact, which we had been all along. Nothing more and certainly nothing less, except still being just friends without benefits. I still felt in my heart and soul that my someday would come. That one day he would wake up and realize that I was The One and that he couldn’t live without me. I relied on someday, as movies and love songs have raised me to think… I always felt it was just around the corner, like in the song Almost Paradisealmost being the operative word. I even have a saved fortune cookie that reads “You’re almost there.” It’s astonishing how much faith I have put into those three words over the years. I was always Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

I have always known that I need to work on myself; I’m not my own person, I tend to have low self-esteem and I live my life based on the opinions of others. I see a psychologist and a psychiatrist for my depression and anxiety and have been slowly but surely working on psycho-analysis trying to better my mental health, my self-image and my behavior. I thought I would have the time to do that, to catch up to his progress. There was a time when this man needed me, but that time passed long ago. He’s made so many positive changes in his life in the last four years that he is basically a new person. I’ve always seen him as My Hero and then also as a role model – the whole package. I assumed that when I changed for the better that someday we would come at the relationship again and finally have our time, being two grown-ups who were ready for that kind of relationship as we knew who we were and that we were no longer living co-dependent lives.

Four abstaining (from each other that is) years later, we were still best of friends, but I always wanted more and I always expected more to come. Until the day I had dreaded for fourteen and a half years came to pass; early spring 2014 he told me he’d started seeing someone and that it had just kind of happened. The parallels in their lives eerily just made sense. She too had planned to focus on career and to not get into a relationship if it was to disrupt that plan in any way. Now that they are both on the cusp of retirement, in the same age bracket, and work together – everything just started falling into place and they both couldn’t believe it, but they were beginning to have feelings for each other. It was a perfect storm of heart-wrenching devastation to me. It was then that I was certain that I was still in love with him and that I will always love him and that it was quite likely that I could no longer be friends with him. The cancer that was this relationship had hit stage 4 and it was terminal. But to hear him speak with such excitement and awe of something he had never really known before started to fill me with joy and I thought maybe, just maybe I can be happy for him and still be his friend.

Four months went by with less than a handful of texts, as he was away on trainings, and all the while my mind transitioned from almost accepting that “the love of my life had found the one, and that it wasn’t me” to realizing I could no longer put myself at his mercy, my delusions needed to stop, and that I needed to face reality. This relationship is and always has been toxic and I knew I could no longer use Band-Aids to cover the small hurts him or I caused my psyche over the years – it was time to amputate the cancer.

Monday night, as we sat on the patio of Panera Bread, I bided my time while we caught up with each other as we usually did, still unsure if I had the fortitude to do what I had to do. Finally, it was time to bring it up. And somehow I did. We’d had this talk before, about four years before, but I knew this would not be quite the same. That one ended with him thinking that, after I felt better, that we would always be the best of friends, playing with each other’s kids and always being there for each other. This one was not dissimilar, but I knew there was a permanence in the words I spoke to him. I told him that I did want him to be happy, but that I didn’t want to know about it – it would hurt me too much to know that someone else made him happier than I ever could. I do want him to be happy, but not to my detriment, and the only solution to that was to never know about it. And severing our friendship would ensure that. Or at least that’s what I am hoping. So through tears I realized the truth in the words I was saying to him: that I would not be at his pinning ceremony, I would not be at his retirement ceremony, and most assuredly I would not be at his wedding. All events at which I always thought I would stand next to him as I always have. The reality of that still brings tears to my eyes (and will continue to do so, no doubt, for some time) while I type this and listen to my Spotify playlist “Love Exsanguinated.”

Saying goodbye to the man I love, is one of the hardest and shittiest things I’ve ever had to do in my life. Time After Time I composed myself, but when he realized it was not just the loss of him, but also how it tied into my loss of my job in the Navy and the loss of my dreams and fantasies that had grown over the years, he began to understand. It is all just too much for me, I’ve got to be true to myself. I was crushed by the tears I wiped from his face as I hugged him for the last time. It was so hard to let him go from my arms, but when I watched him head around the corner to his car, I got into mine. I sat there crying for ten minutes before the tears eased to the point that I could see to drive. And I left, sobbing on and off, on cruise-control, up 5 North to Los Angeles.

In time, I know that I will slowly feel less and less of a connection with him and perhaps even be able to smile when thinking back to all the good times that fifteen years of best-friendship brings without crying and without resentment in my heart. I dread the day he becomes just “Somebody That I Used To Know.” Fifteen years of laughs and references and inside jokes… It’s hard to foresee a friendship like that being formed again. The pain that comes with that thought is Sobering. But for now, I feel the Schism that has probably always been between us.

The stages of grief begin all over again without the pressure of some unforeseen future where I will be able to be friends with him afterwards. Granted, it’s happened with other exes that one day it’s no big deal and we can be friends again, but I cannot guarantee that will happen, nor can I hope for it. In fact I need to stop hoping for anything. Hope has never helped me produce results, it has only ever set me up for failure. If I want something, nothing short of actually doing something will change a thing. “I need to know how to live my life as it’s meant to be.” Wishing and hoping and fantasizing and dreaming have gotten me nowhere. Just like I’ve heard from him for years – the fantasy is always better than the reality. So Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road. It’s time I work on those dreams and goals that only pertain to me and not others, whom I have no control over, born out of fiction and fairytales.

“And so, Castles Made of Sand melt into the sea, eventually.”

Club House and Grand Stand, Saratoga Race Track Saratoga SpringsIt’s astonishing how easily I can forget to take time to write. Whether it’s for my blog, for my sanity or even just an email. I also forget how great it feels to put a string of words together to express myself. I can only equate it to how you never workout because you simply forget just how good it actually feels to do so. I participated in NaNoWriMo in 2013 for the first time and wrote a staggering 26,000 words – just over 50% of the goal. It felt great, to a point, and I really need to complete that particular project… but I digress. Having been away so long from blogging, I thought I’d recapped the plan for last year and take stock in what my swiss-cheesery of a memory deems as highlights.

LAST NEW YEAR: “So here we are, January 2013, and I have decided that rather than make resolutions, I will state a few things that I don’t want to do this year – some I truly hope not to happen, others I think that if I fail at them, it will be a good thing. Here goes: I’m not looking for a relationship, I don’t want to torture myself trying to quit smoking, I don’t want to keep feeling useless and afraid of myself, I don’t want to get fatter, I don’t want to be destitute and wonder when my next meal will be or where I will live. I won’t go off my meds because I forget or think I am better without, I will try not to sweat the small stuff, and I’ll try not to forget about consequences and what leads to them. I don’t want to miss out on family gatherings, I will not rely on others for my well-being, I won’t overwhelm myself with tasks and impossible goals and I won’t forget that I am only human.” All in all, not too shabby since I am still not in a relationship, I quit smoking in May and I lost 30 pounds. Granted New Year 2014 seemed to be a total reversal of most of these as I am smoking again and have gained back all the weight I lost plus some. I am however, still trying to better myself – probably more so now than ever.

 

SEP 2013: My 37th birthday came around and I had lost 30 pounds since May and felt so good that I decided to celebrate by having my 27th birthday. I instagrammed pix of my pink and purple “27” candles on the vegan chocolate cake I made for myself (disgusting by the way). Once it was on Instagram and Facebook, it became true, since you can’t put things on the internet if they aren’t true.

OCT 2013: I dressed as Supergirl (Superman’s cousin) for Halloween and felt awesome. The subsequent candy feast however, lead to a downward spiral I wasn’t expecting. Flash forward to Thanksgiving and the Holiday overeating season.

NOV 2013: Time was running out on my State Disability; you can only get Disability in California for one year. I was unsure what would happen to me financially when that took place. It was during this time that I had finally decided that I had to give up my therapy dog (for mounting reasons) and I delivered her to her new home the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Depression over “losing” Kona may have aided in my nutritional demise.

DEC 2013: As luck would have it, after waiting 6 years for the *correct* rating percentage of disability from the VA, I was finally granted 100% and I could not believe how great the timing was.

JAN 2014: I started going to Los Angeles more and more, as I made plans to move back there when our lease in Helendale was over. I met a comedian friend of a friend and he informed me he was subletting his roommate’s room while he was on tour. I jumped at the chance. I started doing stand-up at open mics  and was thrilled by the rush.

FEB 2014: I moved into a furnished place and started “kind of” looking for places to call my own in West Hollywood. I was going to The Comedy Store every night and loving it. I started to seriously consider that I was on a path to alcoholism as well as becoming a comic.

MAR 2014: I had very little time, as the Helendale lease was almost up, to pack and get all my things into storage, since I couldn’t bring them to the apartment I was staying at.

APR 2014: Realized how fast time was flying and started to buckle down on finding a place.

MAY 2014: I had until the end of the month to find a place and I was getting worried as the rejection calls were coming in based on my credit. I was accepted at two places: one a shit hole that was close to West Hollywood and one several blocks east more in Hollywood proper/Los Angeles. I took the farther one as it seemed a much nicer place and somewhere I might be able to call home. With the stress of moving I stopped doing open mics for a while.

JUN 2014: June flew by in a tizzy of cardboard boxes and first-time adult purchases of major appliances… for the kitchen! What were you thinking?! It feels so strange having my very own refrigerator.

JUL 2014: So here we are and I’m currently sitting on a plane to Houston to celebrate my friend’s husband’s 50th birthday. It stirs an odd emotion inside me as I ponder the possibilities of that very same celebration in my life, which seems not long off (but kind of is). As soon as I get back from Texas I’m on a flight to New York to go to my hometown of Saratoga Springs for my 20th High School Reunion. Why didn’t I think to invite John Cusack as my date since I am still single and have no kids? At the very least, I’ll be sure to bring a pen.

600_southern_california_beaches_map
As anyone with Anxiety, Depression, or frankly, active brain waves knows, it’s good to have someone you can trust that you can talk to about anything. Among those I consider in my life – my psychiatrist, a man I trust beyond words who, other than diagnostically speaking, doesn’t judge me. I can be completely honest without fear of being alienated due to my unfiltered verbal regurgitation.

I value his sessions so much that even though I’ve moved to Los Angeles, I still go down to the San Diego VA (Veterans’ Affairs) just to see him. I had an appointment just the other day. I had almost not gone due to how piss-poor I’ve been feeling these last few weeks and seriously considered a phone call to him instead. Thankfully as the appointment drew near I’d been feeling better and made the trek. I spent two hours and forty minutes driving and I just made it on time. We had one of the most productive sessions to date and I even told my doctor about starting a blog. He is very supportive of my efforts.

My last trip to San Diego I mentioned to people too late and no one could hang out; this trip I thought ahead and had plans to see one of my friends and his family and then dinner with a few old teammate’s of mine (I used to play Women’s Pro Football – but that’s a different story). I wound up not having much time before getting to dinner and my friend had to get his exercise in before the evening was out so we went for a walk with one of his sons and caught up on the last few months. Low and behold, forty-five minutes and 1.8 miles later it was time to go. My ankles had been hurting since about half way, my legs were relatively on fire with the onset of circulation in them for once and I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Not the best way to take care of a chronic pain/headache/mental condition such as I have, but I like to live dangerously.

Off to the sports bar to see two of my dear friends and finally get something in my tummy; I ordered a huge greasy bacon burger (no tomatoes, no onions, medium rare as usual) with a side of tater-tots. Tater-tots always remind me of high school lunch, cracked plastic green trays, sporks and pints of chocolate milk (sometimes 2%, depends). Maybe it’s just me.

It was a great time and it’s moments like these that remind me that even in my darkest times, solitary confinement is not the best idea. It’s always hard when you’re in the thick of it to remember the good things and hold onto them.

By the time we wrapped up it was about 9pm and I was dreading the two hour plus ride home to Los Angeles. I decided since I was in the area and it was only about ten minutes out of the way, I’d hit up my old stomping grounds at The La Jolla Comedy Store. I got to see most of my friends there and had some great laughs. While I was there I realized I was starting to have a Fibromyalgia flare-up. This is when, instead of this or that hurting and the pain going from here to there throughout the day, it’s in multiple areas at once and it just won’t go away. The longer the pain goes on the more distracted and irritable I become. My arms were aching something terrible and the pain started to make my whole torso feel like I’d been hit by a train. I tried to stave off the pain with light-hearted conversation with my friends and continued to fidget over the next hour or so. As they were closing I decided to hit the road.

Since it was only about 10:30 I figured that by the time I made it up to L.A. that The World Famous Comedy Store on Sunset would still be open. It would be fun to hit up my new favorite spot as well as the old in the same night despite how I was feeling; it was relatively on the way back home, so why not? The drive back was shorter, just over two hours and I pulled up to the Store at around 12:30am. My hips were killing me from all the time in the car but I was happy to be there and enjoying more laughs. A few hours there and I was home by 3am.

Boy, did I pay for the prior day’s shenanigans. I couldn’t get out of bed until at least 1:30 in the afternoon and even then, I was a zombie. If it wasn’t for my too-smart-for-her-own-good dog, who has the wherewithal to let me know when she has to go out, I may not have gotten out of bed that day at all. I’m quite sure I only had some instant oatmeal and stared at the TV for an hour before deciding to go back to bed. I slept on and off for several more hours and finally had some strength by 6:30-7:00pm that night.

This is part of my many ongoing problems. I throw my circadian cycle off by having fun into the wee hours, or by being in pain or having racing thoughts and being unable to sleep so I toss and turn for hours. I’d rather do it by having fun, but the results are generally the same. Bedtime gets later and later. Wake time gets later and later. Afternoon naps come into play and nutrition, amongst other things, goes to the wayside.

Although easier said than done, I need to take better care of myself, that’s really all there is to it. I need to force myself into a routine and even if I maintain late nights I have to get up by a certain time and work – work hard – at taking care of myself. It’s not that I can’t try to live a full and fun-filled life, it’s that I have to work on making it healthier and more manageable. I need consistency in my life. Moreover, it’s a matter of having indifference for myself and daily – struggling against it.

cure-fibromyalgia-tender-pointsI was twenty-one when my Fibromyalgia started. Of course, neither I nor the doctors knew that’s what it was for quite some time. I was in the Navy at the time, stationed in Texas for a “C” School of my rate. It was spring going into Summer and temperatures were already on the rise to the point of several black flags during the two months I was there, which restricted our physical training outdoors.

Mid-April, I decided to go on a health kick; I quit smoking, started eating better (how could I not – it was an Air Force Base), and I stepped up my exercising; I even bought Susan Powder’s Stop the Insanity exercise tapes (not my first, nor last attempt to get fit). Being in the military, we’re expected to do PT (Physical Training) at least three times a week to keep ourselves fit for the annual PRT (Physical Readiness Test), therefore exercise can only make me better, right? Or so I thought.

I started running several miles a day, for three days, and at the end of that third day my right knee was hurting pretty significantly. Despite rest and the Vitamin M (Motrin 800mg – the military’s usual prescript despite whatever ails you), the pain would not go away. It started to radiate above and below my right knee and felt as though my muscles and tendons had been damaged. Physical therapy was also of no use and in no time I was onto my next school in Florida for another two-three months and still on Limited Duty, which restricted my physical activity and exempted me from PRTs.

While I was in Florida the pain was spreading through most of my other muscles and joints and started to become the “widespread pain” that would characterize Fibromyalgia. I needed narcotic painkillers to feel any relief (which, of course without physical evidence of injury, they were hesitant to give me) and the unknown diagnosis spooked the docs and my detailer, the person who assigns you to your duty stations. Subsequently, I lost my orders to Misawa, Japan and instead had to choose between Ft. Meade, Maryland and Hawai’i. At this point, I had been in so much pain for so long that I just wanted to be close to my family in upstate New York. I chose Ft. Meade, Maryland. As anyone in the military knows, it seems they have no desire to accommodate needs or wants of military members and it is the “needs of the Navy” that dictate everything. That being said, I was cut orders to Hawai’i; had I chosen that in the first place – it would have been Ft. Meade for sure, I have no doubt.

Time and again we’d say to each other that something the Navy had decided didn’t “make sense.” The all-too-acceptable reply usually being “that’s the Navy for ya’,” as though common sense and military protocol are mutually exclusive. But I digress…

By October I was in Hawai’i and the pain had spread throughout my entire body. In November, there was finally a breakthrough when a civilian doctor working in the clinic ruled out all the usual suspects for my symptoms with a battery of tests: Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Lyme Disease, you name it. I had nearly all the tender points indicated in The American College of Rheumatology 1990 Criteria for Classification of Fibromyalgia1 and he finally diagnosed me with Fibromyalgia.

When I called my mother to tell her, she informed me that she had been diagnosed with it just two weeks earlier. That was fourteen years ago in 1998.

 

1http://www.fibroassist.net/Diagnosis/ACR%201990%20FM%20Criteria.pdf

splatter-grunge-wordpress-logoI am a disabled veteran. I’ve gotten used to saying that by now, despite the stigmata I feel in my heart each time it passes my lips or even my thoughts.

Recently, I had a pretty difficult time with my health, all of my service-connected disabilities came to a head at once and I was overloaded with Fibromyalgia pain, daily Tension (possibly Migraine) headaches and crippling Anxiety and Depression. I had to stop going to work and got a doctor’s note to be out for a few weeks. For the first time I’m putting in for State Disability due to my conditions and for the second time I feel my conditions have hindered my work performance and my day-to-day, this time to the point of not being able to cope – with anything.

In between the days that I couldn’t leave the house, besides to walk my companion dog, I ventured out a few times. In the thick of it, I was so anxiety ridden that driving on the freeway was overwhelming for me and I wondered what I would do if that feeling got worse or didn’t go away.

One of the best destinations I chose when I was in a sullen mood was the World Famous Comedy Store. I have several comedian friends and my whole life I have considered comedy the greatest escape from my sorrows; I love stand-up more than any other form of comedy and really get to let my hair down when I go to shows. It was a conversation I had at the Comedy Store with a friend that spurred my interest with blogging. Being a writer and an English Major, you’d have thought I’d have jumped on the blog-train years ago, but something always stopped me.

My friend and I got into a pretty in-depth conversation about my Fibromyalgia, Anxiety and Depression and he emphasized the need for me to get support; he suggested blogging. The seed was planted; in the last few weeks the idea has turned into more of a mission than just an outlet to express myself.

I’d like to not only express myself, but offer up my experiences to others. I, like many other people with disabilities, somehow always still feel alone, even though common sense dictates that we are not alone. I would like to give my support and in exchange gain the support of others that I know are out there, but that I do not know… yet.