It's Funny When People Don't Care

It's funny when people don't care to keep listening, to keep reading, to keep asking. At work today, I realized that after telling a co-worker I had a bionic arm (that no, I cannot karate chop people with), his lack of questioning me and my scar was hilarious.

I normally wear sleeves to cover up my scar. Mostly from UV rays, but also because people used to stare. Rudely I might add. My husband's former soldiers in the military would just sit there and stare, and then he'd say something like "You looking at my wife's arm? Yeah, she committed suicide." They would become incredibly embarrassed by this. This last year, I haven't worn a sleeve to cover up my scar. Mostly because the nature of my work doesn't afford the opportunity of gawking.

So today, when he questioned nothing about me, my life, or my disease, I found it hilarious. Why do we place so much value on what people are hindered by? We shouldn't. People can't help a lot of things. In fact, there's very little that people can control. You were born into a family, a country, a culture, a religion and environment that you had no say over. It's ironic that we think these things matter so much when in fact, they matter not because the luck of the draw could have been ANYONE.

To him, it didn't matter that I have a bone disease. I wish I could be more like this and not care, but when it affects everything you do in your physical interactions on a daily basis, it's hard not to consider it something to care about. True, if he had asked questions I would have acquiesced and answered him. I'm not a person to shy away from questions no matter how difficult they may be unless I feel lines are crossed.

It really is funny that there are those rare people in the world that don't care where you've been or what you've done - because I have only ever met one honest-to-goodness person like this. It's funny that they are so hard to find. I'd love to find more of them. Judgement reserved, accepting people. I need real humanity, friendship and acceptance. I need people to stop rushing how long it takes me to do things, to stop commenting on the shortcuts I take, to let me have my chance to do it myself, and so on.

I might own my disease. But I don't want to be judged or labeled by it.

The Land of Fallacy

So now that I've scared the crap out of everyone with my last two posts, perhaps people might understand where I am coming from a little better when I say that I have issues when it comes to dealing with the effects of Kienbock's disease.

Yesterday, I was having company come over to do my hair. When company comes over, I tend to go into panic mode and clean. This stems from living with my parents for 19 years. My mother was a borderline hoarder, and my dad is just a pack rat. He'll say he can use something, and then it disappears for a while into the black hole that is the garage ... only to reappear one oddly random day in use. I feel like when people come to my house, they shouldn't be overwhelmed with all the skeletons in the closet. And, I have a complex about smelling good. Not just me and my body, but my home. This can be difficult with animals and a husband - but believe me when I say it was worse in the military with smelly pro-gear everywhere.

So anyhow, I'm sticking dishes in the dishwasher and since I can't scrub them so well, I let them soak. Then, I wipe down all the counters and fronts of the cabinets - again, as well as I possibly can. Then, I get the broom and pan out from under the sink. Since it's tiny and I have a slip disc in my back, I kneel on the floor to sweep the dust and crumbs into the pan. How many times and with how much emphasis can I say BAD IDEA? I realize as I'm trying to move around on the floor, that this was incredibly stupid of me. I have to scoot around. We've suspected for a long time that I have Kienbock's in my other hand, and I for certain have tendonitis in it. So, I can't use it as my support or leverage. As patient as I may appear most of the time, I panicked. My M.O. in this type of situation is to get really angry with myself. Most people who read this probably haven't been to my home, but all I had was the counter, which I could reach, but wouldn't have been able to pull myself up considering how stressed my left hand and arm were at that moment. On the other side, I had dining chairs. I wanted to cry at how stupid I was being. I managed to stray from breaking the stove and cabinet doors, and made it to a chair that I pulled out and pushed myself from my elbows up with. 

After this, I felt completely ridiculous. What if I was stuck there? Some days are really good and I can push myself up, but other days, like yesterday, I act completely stupid and panic over something silly. No one was home and my phone was nowhere near me. I always think about how much worse it can be. I'm a glass-is-half-empty kind of person. If you don't prepare yourself for the worst, then you won't know how to react. Treat every situation as if it's just the stepping stone to the worst possible situation, and you will be prepared.

this may seem totally counter to what I just told you happened, but once I got off the floor, I imagined having fallen or been in mortal danger, and unable to move myself. This concerns me greatly. It's entirely depressing so I just think about it constantly, unable to let it go. I stress that something one day is bound to happen; my outward actions of scrambling around to find something is what I deal with daily. If I'm driving, and I can't get the wheel to operate exactly how I tell my hands to do it, I freak out and think of the horrible things that will happen one day if I can't get my hands to work. I'm afraid of what I can and can't do. Ultimately, you cannot see me curling up in a ball, helpless inside my head because I know this disease will eventually disable me to the point where I can't help myself - and yes, this statement right there is me overreacting to my predicament. I can't NOT do that. I feel that way. Feelings are feelings, and I've found that no matter what I do, feelings are uncontrollable, but actions and reactions are more easily controlled. I have this extreme paranoia from my borderline personality disorder, and live in the land of fallacies. If one thing tips, they all tip. If I'm mad about one thing, I'm mad about everything.

I can't seem to make sense of anything because of my own obstacles within myself. I accept that I am what I am, and what happens happens, but I reject the control I can exert over situations. I can't even trust myself to do the right things or act the right way. If it's something as simple as being stuck on the floor I'm going to attempt to control it. And, when I feel out of control I panic.

Now that I am sharing more about the real me inside, it might be possible to see what a difficulty it is struggling with having Kienbock's, having depression and a borderline personality and what happens when combinations like this create havoc. If I could, I'd just lay all day in the same spot thinking, crying, and angry.

Things Must Change

DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to hurt anyone's feelings. It is not an attack. THIS IS HOW I FEEL. THESE ARE MY OPINIONS AND EXPERIENCES. You can't change that.


Since many people responded to my previous post in a way I half expected (dared to hope wouldn't), I would like to remind everyone who reads this that this is a blog about MY life, MY experiences, MY views, MY opinions. None of which is something that you can affect with words. So, I'd like to explain something about having depression and a borderline personality ... mothering them will not work. Telling them things aren't so, will not work. Giving them an "open door" will readily be ignored. And again, I am not saying this to hurt people's feelings. I'm stating the truth. It forces me to withdraw further.

I've spent my entire life reaching out, and floundering. This is something I struggle with daily. I've tried initiating friendship, I've tried carrying on friendship, I've tried being a good family member ....in all of these situations, I get walked upon. People lie, people flake, people don't want to be around me, people don't want to do the things I want to do - but when the tables are flipped, they expect me to respond. I'll give an example.

I was acquaintances with someone in college. I really wanted to be her friend; she was a really interesting person and someone I felt I could connect with over a weird interest in serial killers. (Since that is aside from my point, I'll leave you wondering.) One summer, she stayed at school. I called her and asked if she could come help me put together some furniture as my husband and I had just moved and he was working full-time and attending classes. She came over and helped me put together the dining table, the chairs, and a small coffee table. We got to talking about things, and she wanted to be a bone specialist. I explained I had a really interesting book on bones. It told this hilarious story about how Michael Jackson thought he could buy the Elephant man's skeleton - which is just wrong on so many levels. I ended up loaning her that book, and another one. On another occasion, we went together to Moscow to have her hair cut since she didn't want to go alone. I thought we were building a good rapport. That year in college, she wanted my support with a major decision she was making. I threw myself behind her because I really believed she could make change happen. Not long after this, she didn't get the position she wanted and I feel she blamed me and my husband for not being her champions. Shortly after this incident, she invited us to a costume party. My husband and I had spent most of the afternoon fighting, so neither of us was in a good mood and we couldn't put costumes together in time. We called and told her we wouldn't be able to make it, that neither of us was feeling very good and that we were fighting, maybe it was best we didn't make her party awkward. This was quite truthful. I think if we had gone, we would have been fighting a lot longer than we could have been. She stopped talking to us much after that unless it was out of convenience. We never received invitations again, when we'd ask her to do something she was always too busy to spend time with us, but not other people, she never returned the books I loaned her, and then a few months later, she moved to the other side of the country to attend graduate school. We've never heard from her again.

This is a pattern in my life. Like it or not, I can give someone every reason to believe me, to trust me, to be kind to me, I can reach out, and then suddenly it's gone. Often without explanation. This remands me to keep to myself. I stop asking anything, and thus I never get anything. I become infuriated when people think they know how to fix me too. I don't want to be fixed. I don't want to understand YOUR view. I don't live in YOUR world because my problems are mine. They stem from me and MY environment. Not yours.

I don't want people's pity. I don't want people's feeble attempts to open doors. (And I say feeble because in MY experiences they have all been feeble, never honest.) I hate to say it, but what I want is someone to just know and then act. Yes, I'm a woman and yes that means in some cases you are expected to be a mind reader. I'm sure everyone can relate to that, but what I am saying here is that I often don't have any idea what the hell it is I need. I don't get it from my family, and I don't get it from the people I know. Often, the only person in the world that can give me anything is my husband. And, he's got enough on his plate - I hate pressuring him to do more. He's been so wonderful that I can't just dump on him anytime I feel like. In fact, he is NOT a punching bag or a trash can. This is something I expect other people to automatically accept without explanation. He can't always be the one.

Finally, my speaking out about my views and my experiences isn't here for you to judge or change my mind about. Things have to change. I'm not some five year old that you can get to believe in Santa, I'm a 30 year old woman with a husband, a degree, a career, 2 home businesses and medical problems. Consolation does not come in the form of "wishing" things for me, or telling me "that's not the way it is." It makes the issue(s) worse. So what is my motivation for doing this?

My getting rid of the poison in my heart, I can be free. THAT, is worth the pain and heartache in the end because at the end of the day, I know who I am and that is all that I want to matter.

Hi. I'm Kienbock's Girl and I Suffer From Depression.

I remember being lonely from a very young age. I have a younger sister and a younger brother, hoards of cousins, a best friend I've known my entire life, yet I remember feeling lonely most of my life. I can't pinpoint exactly what it stems from, but I know there are many factors that contribute to my bouts of depression.

When I was 16 I contracted mono from sharing drinks with friends at school. Two friends who were dating each other had been sick for a couple of weeks, but didn't know that they had mono. I distinctly recall buying a Sprite one day for lunch, and they passed it between each other. We did this often in my circle of friends. If someone had a drink, you just shared. And, there were like 15 of us or so that this would happen with. That day, I shared it with the two of them, and then went to German class. A week later, my dad had to take me to the doctor because I couldn't stay awake, I wasn't eating much, and I felt like every day I had run a marathon. The clinic gave me that form they always give to patients to fill out asking what their symptoms are; what aches, what hurts, what stings, stabs, pokes, bleeds, etc. I checked a bunch of stuff on the list including headaches, itchy eyes, lethargy, trouble sleeping, trouble falling asleep, trouble waking up, exhaustion, wheezing, achy joints, and more.

When I went in with the doctor, they first gave me a blood test to see if I had diabetes. Then, she asked me why I checked everything off on the form. I told her (in what I am sure was my best 16 year old attitude) the form asked me to list everything I was feeling, so I did. They swabbed my mouth, took my temperature and then took 6 vials of blood from me. After this invasion, she sat down to "chat" with me. She basically told me that I was likely suffering from early forms of insomnia and depression - which are often linked. She told me she was going to prescribe medication to "regulate" my hormone levels.

Not long after this, we found out I was sick with mono. But, my dad starting taking me to a psychologist at the doctor's urging - over something completely unrelated which at some point I may be able to talk about more openly. After some time with the psychologist, she too believed I suffered from episodes of manic depression, but did not believe I was manic - that I just had a mild form that would peak at times. In addition to this, she also agreed that I was suffering from insomnia. I would literally stay up all hours of the night trying to keep my mind off of my life, my family, my problems, and my loneliness.

I was kept on drugs for depression for a few months. I only told 1 person other than my family that I was being medicated. Mostly, because when I was on the medication, I was not the same person. He thought I was acting extremely strangely. I would talk to complete strangers, I made dates with complete strangers, I would drive my car with one leg out the window (no, I'm not kidding), in social situations, I would be relaxed and indifferent, I would say things I normally would never have the gall to say, the list goes on. Ultimately, I hated the person I had become on drugs and so I quit taking them after a while.

In my view of my life, I have been a very inward person. I don't share the deepest parts of me with anyone. Or, if I do, it is a bit here and there and usually they're with my husband. I was brought up by a father who had no nonsense parents, and by a mother who was somewhat crazy but was someone you didn't dare cross. I did not fit either of these molds. I feel like my entire life, I've been nothing but a disappointment in the temperament and character they wanted in a daughter - though I'm sure neither of them could agree on what this would have been. Though I imagine it would be more like my sister for the most part. I have felt like an outsider in my family for as long as I can remember. My name doesn't help matters much. I have a completely unusual name, while everyone else has normal names. And, when I hear in my head my dad or mom saying my name, it accompanies a panic and feeling a tone of extreme disappointment

Not long after I was diagnosed with depression, I realized with my Psychologist that I have a Borderline Personality disorder. If you knew me at all during my middle, high and early college school years you will likely automatically agree. People who suffer from this almost always suffer from depression. They kind of go hand in hand.

My abandonment issues, my emotional state, my impulsivity, my history of intense and highly unstable relationships, my paranoia, my anger, my suicidal thoughts and behaviors.... these are all things that affect how I handle my bone disease. I feel like I have no friends who really understand me - and I am NOT meaning to hurt anyone's feelings with this statement. I feel that people don't make an effort to know me, to be close to me, to care about me ... so I withdraw, I hold back, I behave strangely. Ultimately, my mind says trust no one, but my heart desperately wants to. I cling to the only thing I know I have in the world, but fear that every moment with him is my last - no matter what he does or says to try and make me believe. I truly HAVE gotten better with this over time, I mean, 11 years later and we're still together has definitely taught me something. Every day I feel I can trust him more. But, it's not enough because I don't have an unromantic connection with someone that is like this. I don't have another person in my life that I feel would stand behind me no matter what, that would believe me, that would want me and care for me and love me in the way I need to be loved. My husband knows these feelings that I have all too well. He knows that every time I try to get close to someone or believe a relationship with them is going somewhere - it ultimately fails in every way because I couldn't get what I needed from it. And, I wish that having a husband were enough. Most days, it is. Other days, I can't take care of my home or my animals or myself.

All these issues and more are swirling in my head right now. I really feel like crying because I hold all this in. I don't know anyone other than my husband that knows all these things about me. In fact, I don't really know why I am sharing this with my audience here - the few people that do read this. I believe there is a reason, but I just don't know what. But, I am hoping that by cleansing myself of this fear, this sadness, this depressive behavior - that I can finally start feeling more whole as a person and start to heal in a way I need.

Cars and Bones and Other Fashionable Rides

After high school I spent a year to myself. I went on an exchange program to Germany, and I worked a full-time job at my uncle's engineering firm. I went to college the next fall at Washington State University. I enrolled in the school of Music as a Music Major. My primary instruments were piano and flute - I've talked a little bit about this before. In the year that I spent away from school, I recovered from my neck injury. It wasn't a fun process let me tell you, but in October of that year, a full 4 months later, during a storm, I hydroplaned into another car who was merging onto the freeway in downtown Seattle. I wasn't going more than 15 miles per hour, but such a low impact jarred my neck badly, and I remember holding onto the steering wheel so tight, that my arms were straight out in front of my trying to brace myself for the whip backwards. They had a tiny scratch on their car, but I was the one worse for the wear.

I sometimes wonder if this is what caused the bone in my hand to collapse - it would make a lot of sense. Low impact car accidents are absorbed by the passengers of a vehicle. Hitting a car at low speed can slip a disc for example.

I'm not a bad driver, but the last few years have made me extremely afraid to be behind a wheel. I haven't had a car accident since this time, so 12 years later when an act of nature called black ice took me careening for around 600 feet downhill into a rock wall planter, I wasn't surprised to find out I have a slipped disc in my lower back. It is highly plausible that such an event as a small car wreck could cause a radial difference to have put intense pressure on my hand bones.

Today, driving is still not enjoyable. I lost that sense of adventure years ago. I mostly drive with my left hand. Things like changing gears, adjusting the rear view mirror and turning the wheel are all obstacles when you have Kienbock's disease. If I do use my right hand, I rely on my fingers for grip and my arm from about my elbow for the control I need of the wheel.

When it comes to other forms of transportation, I seriously have to weigh the cons before I step away. I do own a bike, and I do like to ride it. The problem is though, that using your hands and arms for balance and direction is key. I can no longer ice skate (not that I was EVER any good), roller skate, roller blade, or skateboard/mountain board if I wanted to - not that I do but just as an example. People who fall from these modes of transportation used their hands. It's an automatic reflex if you wobble; you put your hands out. Additionally, I have to rule them out because you cannot trust other people in the world.

I remember in elementary school, every year our school would rent a roller rink and we'd have a huge school party (I went to private elementary, so this was not a large amount of kids). One year, I recall being hit so hard from behind that I fell and was knocked out. My parents wouldn't let me skate for the rest of the day. I mean, think about it. People bump other people, people push and shove, people sidle by.... cars are on the road, animals are on the road, the weather can be drastic, etc. Deciding to go for a bike ride or a rollerblading adventure would just be plain stupid of me. Distractions and invaders are everywhere. I'm not paranoid, I'm practical. It's not worth risking the loss of the use of my hand to go ice skating. If I fell and landed on my hand or arm, I could do some real damage that might not be repairable in ways it would be for other people. I have an extremely thin radius and calcium deficiency because I'm lactose intolerant and have to rely on other foods or vitamins for calcium.

Some people might not understand how this is living life. They'd say if I wanted to do something, to just do it. But, as a realistic and practical person, this is stupid advice. The only way you could do these activities would be in a controlled environment - something many people don't have access to in their everyday lives. As much fun as owning a gym like WSU has, I'd really just rather say it's not worth the risks involved and find other avenues to pursue.

At the end of the day, I never regret my choices to stay out of harm's way. I know I cannot control everything, but I can avoid situations that make it dangerous for my physical health.

Kleenex and More Deep Thoughts

Today, when trying to blow my nose before using my allergy nasal spray, I grabbed the tissue box on my desk at work. The tissues were not sticking out of the top like they should have been ... they were stuffed down inside still. For some reason, the last Kleenex did not pull out the next. After picking up the box, I tried pinching and grabbing the next Kleenex. Epic fail. After a good 15 seconds of trying to get the darn thing out (and 15 seconds is a long time, took me about 8 tries to get it out), I realized that I can't feel my fingers.

It always escapes me that I can't use my hand. I still get into the mindset that I CAN TOO carry in the bag of groceries, or vaccuum the carpets. There are a few big things that I absolutely cannot do such as scrub things, ride most rollercoasters, or hold on for dear life to the "Oh Shit!" handlebars.

After my first surgery and I came home from the hospital, we video called my family. My sister, her husband and their two kids were staying at my parents' house that Thanksgiving. My siter's very precocious daughter is very much like me. I remember she was sitting on my mom's lap, and we were all talking about the hospital, and the surgery, etc. I was explaining how I couldn't feel my hand, but I could wiggle some fingers pretty good, moving them up and down and bend them slightly. This was a very big deal to me at the time, mostly because I was afraid I'd lost the use of my hand forever. One of the things my mother used to do is try to alleviate heavy issues with humor. Often obnoxious humor. She asked me if I was working on my "bird." It took me a second. "Mom, are you asking if I can flip people off?" If you recall I come from a very devout Christian household where saying crap was a sin. My mom says "Yeah," and shows me her middle finger. She did it right in front of my sister's daughter. I told her that wasn't appropriate. She said "Oh, she's only 3, she doesn't know what it means. Show me your finger!" My mother was encouraging me to flip people off. This was a post-surgery therapy I could live with. Much better than lifting my arm over my head and trying to pump a fist about 10 times.

Losing feeling and range of motion is something I'll live with forever, and is not easily accepted. I'm had these issues for years now, yet when I go to grab that kleenex,or I make an effort to try and flip someone off with my right hand, it's evident. You would think by now that I would be used to this kind of thing.

Showering is easier now, but still difficult. A side effect of surgeries has been an extreme sensitivity to temperature changes, or, conversely, an apparent lack to knowing my temperature. It's weird. I have both worlds. The scar tissue in my arm has built up rather knotted, and it does not like hot water, or cold water when I'm washing my hands or showering. One therapy I used to do was sand at the hand therapist in Kansas City, which is like water therapy. You stick your arm inside what looks like a rolling heater, and it blows sand all over your arm. Some of the things you can do inside it are make repetetive movements with your hand and arm, or squeeze objects. I like the hand motions, and I've transfered that to water. Although my hand and arm do not like hot and col, they really enjoy water. Water breaks down barriers that are evident 99% of the time. I love making swishing motions with my hand and moving my arm gently from side to side anytime i'm in a pool for example. Nothing pops, no tendons twinge over bones and scar tissue, nothing feels completely out of place. But once you remove the water, it's like the kleenex box all over again.

What drives me to be so patient and to only contemplate is my lack of anger with my arm itself. Sure, I'm mad that it took years for doctors to discover that I wasn't a hypochondriac, suer I'm mad that I was born with a bone compensation, sure I'm mad that people treat me certain ways based upon my abbilities - but I don't let any of this stop me. I continue on with my life. I realize that anger gets you nowhere when you can't conctrol the situation. Since I can't control hardly anything involving my arm, I've become an overly patient person with myself. I don't push. I'm the ever driving hammer at the nail.

I don't recall if when I left the office today though, the kleenex I took brought up the next one .... I guess I'll find out tomorrow when I need to take my allergy medication.

Remembering a Walk at Christmas

So if you've been reading my blog or catching up on all the old stories, you recall that we lived in this large home in Germany at the time because my husband was stationed in Mannheim for the greatest 3 years of our lives. And, his parents were visiting us very shortly after my first surgery for Kienbock's. You may also recall that I took very few drugs to help with the pain - largely in part because I hate medicine, but also largely in part because I didn't need it. It did nothing to stop the pain.

I do recall a particular evening just before Christmas. We had spent part of the afternoon walking through our village, and up the mountainside to where the vineyards were so J&S could see the spectacular view we had of the Rhein-Neckar valley. Seriously, spectacular. We could see miles out on good days, and every day we could see Mannheim which was 12 kilometers away. It was a little cloudy, and it had been snowing. We took the dog with us, all bundled up in his sweater. But, he finally started shivering after an hour or so, so we trekked back down and decided to go to the church next door to our home.

To be honest, we had never been inside the church. Mostly, because there was always something going on. Concerts, weddings, funerals, services, it was like a convention center for our village. Anyway, we went down into the church courtyard, and I recall looking at our home from a very different angle. I'd always seen it from our perspective, but from next door I recall thinking "No wonder why all those people keep coming and looking in our windows!"

The church is a catholic church, and inside it was largely lit by candles. There is a black Madonna altar which is said to perform miracles. In fact, the walls of the church were encased with stories and pictures and prayers from locals who had received or were asking for miracles to be performed by the black Madonna. I'm never one to squelch people's stories about religious artifacts - partially because as a human being with a belief in greater things, I too would love to believe that the reason someone didn't die in a car crash was because Christ's mother was watching out for them.

My father-in-law and husband took turns waiting with the dog outside the church so that J&S could have the time to look around as well. We weren't there very long because of our freezing puppy, so we went back to the house where we had hot chocolate and cider. I remember we played a few games, one of which was Blokkus. My father-in-law got the gist of the game after the first round, and decided he'd block everyone early on in the game. It was difficult maneuvering around him, but we managed. And, it turns out he lost very badly. To this day we give him crap about playing Blokkus.

I remember though, that day, my husband convinced me to take some medicine. I can't remember if it was Percocet or hydrocodone ... but I was high as a kite for a few hours on it. It sure didn't take care of my pain, but it improved my mood. It improved my mood so much in fact that we have photographic evidence. At that time in my life, I wasn't too keen on photos. Normally, I like having my picture taken by my husband - not so much by other people, but he manages to capture good moments that I like to remember.

This being one of the few times I ever willingly took medicine outside a hospital to help with the pain, I became a bigger believer in strength of mind. I have other injuries where occasionally medicine helps. For example with bursitis pain, taking some ibuprofen helps alleviate symptoms and inability to keep still. But nothing, I repeat, nothing, gets rid of Kienbock's pain. It's there and you have to live with it every second. I've uncovered ways to ignore it or mask it, but for years I've lived with the pain as if it were part of me and who I am.

Essentially, I own Kienbock's disease. I let it help define me. If I didn't, I'd live a miserable existence. It's like people who are in wheelchairs accepting help. If you don't accept help, how do you expect to get through life happy, and well? You won't. You might not be able to reach for something, but that makes you no less dignified and no less human. We all have hurdles in life. Owning them and dealing with them is the only way to ever get around them. Refusing to will make you unpleasant, and worthless. Simple things like taking walks and playing games helped me overcome the fear and incapacitation of the pain. Being with a husband who has supported me in the best way he knows how has also helped. Relinquishing control will gain you control - if that makes sense to you in some messed up way. Life is all about obstacles. You can either accept them and your reactions to them, or you can drown in them. I choose to accept them.