|| Lifeline. ||

One pleaded for her life. The other pleaded for his death.

----

Well, there's been no easy to say this without getting gasps of sympathy and fake concerns when I tell them that I'm paralyzed from the hip down. Like "ain't it obvious, woman? I'm on a bloody useless wheelchair at this damned supermarket. stop asking how i am. i'm bloody fine."

being me means that i'm cursed with no outdoor activities and no playing and no reaching cookies at the top cupboard. i can still read and move myself in this wheelchair, though. I can type. I can ask someone to get that cookie for me. I can feed myself. I can read. I can play with action figures. I can write. my hands for some medical reasons gets tired easily (as in writing half a paper) and basically it sucks at being hands but it's working so i'm grateful for that.

if i was paralyzed from the neck down, how'll I re-read The Lightning Thief now?

but it still feels like i'm useless. that all i'm doing is just wasting people's time. I know, i know. when i tell stuff like this to people they're gonna say that i'm not wasting time and they love spending time with me. yeah, right.

it's pretty cruel to lie to a dying girl, ain't it?

[contains disability, suicidal thoughts, references to self-harm and a few curse words. It's a weird story, really. Ya sure you wanna read this?]