Help when able

I've always been the type of person who will stop someone that I can see is clearly in pain and try to help. whether that is physical or emotional pain. I do not like seeing someone suffer. Tonight, I was standing outside of Luckys after work and a young man walked by clearly hurting. He was covered in blood and had a gash about three centimeters long on his forehead dripping in blood. I stopped him while he was walking and asked him if he was OK..before I saw what the real damage was. He said no and kept walking..clearly upset. I asked him what happened and to please stop. He was very hesitant but needed help. He knew he did. When he walked to me I saw all of the damage. I saw all of the blood that was pouring from his forehead.. there was so much of it. I had clean napkins to press his wound & was able to get his name. I alerted staff from the closed bar to attempt to get assistance. I learned about him and his family while asking questions to keep him calm while we waited for police and emt. I learned this innocent man was jumped by 4 people while he was having a drink with his twin sister. That disgusts me. That means there are four assholes that live in this town. Who would do that to someone unprovoked? All this guy cared about was that his sister was okay because he lost her in the fight as he tried to run to get away from those people. (He was able to get a hold of her with my phone and thankfully she is safe!)

It's not ok guys. If you see someone hurting and you have the ability to help, please do! Find out how you can help. This world full of shitty people but it is also full of good people. I implore you to be one of those good guys to help someone when they need it or cheer someone up when they're sad. Try to do the right thing when you see someone wronged..just because you may be strangers, doesn't mean you shouldn't help. It's a basic human right to be treated with respect. I hope that if you are ever in a tough situation, someone will do everything in their power to be there for you.

The twisted mind.

I was driving down the street when I had a random urge to take a short cut through a car lot. That's when I saw him. A handsome man with a strong jawline was sitting it a white car smoking a cigarette. He was attractive, yes, with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. Yet there was something so terrifying about him. I made eye contact with him as I drove past and knew I was danger. He fired up his engine and started to follow me, looking in my rear view mirror I tore through the car lot. That's when my tire blew out. Maybe I ran over a nail, perhaps there was a trap set up. I have no clue. I had no choice, I had to get as much room between me and this stranger as possible. I got out of my car and started on foot. I ran so fast, I flew. I had two options. Left was an open field that would leave me vulnerable or an auto garage to the right. I opted to try and find a hiding spot in the seemingly empty building. I heard the man's car screech to a stop and his footsteps fast approaching. Panicked I tried wedging myself behind a rolling toolbox. A second man came out of an office at the top of a set of stairs, grease caked the railings he held on too. This man was in dirty mechanics clothes with the name "Andy" stitched on the pocket and a cap that covered his unkempt hair. He had startling green eyes that grew wide in an instant. That was the moment he saw the man who had been chasing me. My own eyes flickered from Andy to the man filled with rage. He was holding a gun and had fire in his eyes. Andy tried running back to the office but this man was faster. He pulled him by his shirt back down the stairs, held him and gunpoint and searched the room with his gaze wildly. I all but stopped breathing in my hiding place, praying I would not be found. I wasn't so lucky. After almost a minute of terror, a pair of nearly black eyes met mine. He grabbed me by a fistful of hair and threw me on the ground. At that moment I was positive I was going to die. With the gun fixed on me I was told to kneel on the ground and put my head on the floor. So frightened, I sat there shocked until I felt the gun pressed firmly against my temple. With that I sat on my knees, pressed my forehead to the cement and attempted to make peace with my fate. Rather than being mad that I took that shortcut or couldn't get away, I spoke aloud what I was happy about. In a soft mutter, told the man with the gun I wasn't ready to die, there was so much I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to graduate college, travel the world, take care of my parents as they grew old. I told him of the tragedy I've experienced and why I'm grateful for it. I'm proud of who I've become and if I were to die today, it would all be for naught. I begged shamelessly for mercy. If I were to die, it wouldn't be a hero's death, but a cowards. Too focused on my mortal peril, I forgot what else was happening. It was a gunshot that woke me up. I screamed and cried as I did a mental check of my body. I was alive....did the bullet even hit me? No. I looked up to see Andy fold over himself as he fell to the floor. My head was slammed against the floor a second later. Hot blood was streaming from my cheek mixing with snot and tears. As much of a mess I looked like, I was infinitely more of a wreck inside. My heart was beating a thousand beats a minute, presumably to make up for the beats I'll miss out on once I'm dead and gone. My stomach was considering parting with my body and my brain was scanning through a million outcomes. What would my parents do when they found out I had been killed? Would it be extremely painful? Would I die quickly or bleed out slowly? Is there an afterlife? Despite my hysteria I could hear the man screaming at me to shut up and not to look up. The gun was pressed to my skin once more. This time on the back of my neck. He had drawn the gun back and cocked it. It was time. I shut my eyes tight and pictured my loved ones. Once more I heard the giant bang and echo of the gun. And again I did an inventory of my body to find no bullet wounds. Startled and confused I dared to raise my head. There he was, the gunman, crumpled up on the floor with a bullet through is skull. I'll never understand what happened. This disturbed man, took his own life yet spared mine. Was his plan to scare the living hell out of me? Did he intend on killing me, but was dissuaded by my heart wrenching pleas for mercy? Was he expecting someone else to have driven past him? Was he ill in the mind? Did he have a plan or even know what he was doing at all? I'll never know. I'm not sure I want to either. I escaped with my life.

I feel I don't need to, but equally should, say that this is fiction. I actually had an extremely vivid dream of this today. It's curious how the mind creates these webs of stories. 

Be Well

Gayle

Some thoughts on electromyography

I had my EMG two autumns ago after a devastating auto accident left me with permanent nerve damage. I was told it would be uncomfortable but my doctor said because of my tattoos and being able to take needles for lab work like a champ that it wouldn't be bad. My primary doctor was a lying dick. My administering doc was awesome though. She kept the conversation light and quick witted to keep my nerves at bay. (Pun intended) During my EMG I endured more pain than the actual accident itself. At least my body was in shock after the initial injury. My mom drove me to the neurologist for the test. I found that the shocking part of the test was extremely uncomfortable but not impossible to handle. When it came time for the needle portion though I was in excruciating pain. I stayed silent and tried to be compliant but tears were streaming down my face and my body involuntarily shook and lurched forward in pain. It got so bad that my mom had to leave the room. She had been so strong for me throughout everything but couldn't take seeing me in pain anymore. It was a very challenging thing for me to face but prepared me for the pain I endure daily. From the day of the accident, over two years ago, to present day I get sharp, shooting pains down my legs that stop me from walking, standing, etc. However, without the EMG, I wouldn't have gotten the answers and treatments. My particular diagnosis is 7+ years before I become as improved as possible with life long pain and spasms. I will say though, if someone reading this is nervous about an upcoming test, it's okay. It's okay to be nervous or scared. Bring someone along who can hold your hand and stop for ice cream before bringing you home. Try bringing headphones or a good luck charm. Most importantly, try to remember that the test itself is the one hurdle you have to jump before getting the answers to need to help you out.

Fuck that.

I'm pissed the fuck off! I've liked someone for 4+ months and told them today. I was invited out by them and at the end of the night told "I don't feel the same, we're homies" Then he proceeded to take my fucking friend who knew I liked him into his room. Fuck you both. Fucking asssholes. So apparently both these people are my friends. Fuck that. 

Nightmares

My nightmares have jolted me awake the last, hell, almost 2 years. They've been worse than ever this past week. In the last four days alone I've maybe gotten seven hours of sleep. The imagery and the undeniable pain that goes along with these nightmares are nearly indescribable. The best way I can try to explain it, is to share the image I see in a particular moment in my nightmares. A sharp serrated blade ripping up from my foot, twisting through my knee at its end. My muscles and nerves being torn from my flesh and bone. Not dissimilar to that of a fish being gutted. It takes every ounce of my being to steady my breathing after screaming myself awake. Followed by being unable to fall back asleep while the pictures are seared into my eyelids. All I can hope for is one peaceful nights sleep. Writing about it helps a little as I would hate to bottle all of that up. At least this gets it out of my head for awhile. 

Abideen

I'm making a fast friend here in the community room. There is a quite old man from Afghanistan, his primary language is Persian and his English is quite broken. That hasn't stopped him from trying to be personable and kind. He brought over blueberry scones for us to share as we watched Wheel of Fortune together. Halfway through the show a deaf gal came into the room and Abideen was able to sign in ASL to speak with her easily. I find this so amazing that a man who came to America knowing no English was able to learn Sign Language to help him learn to communicate. There is something so beautiful about two people from two backgrounds and cultures being able to get to know each other when it would be so easy for either of them to be secluded. 

Over the last half hour or so, roughly 5 people have come into the community room and Abideen as perked up and said hello to all of them by name and they all respond with genuine happiness. My hope is that even a fraction of my generation can be as kind and warm as him when we reach his age.

Today, Abideen has taught me a few new words in sign language and how to write my name in Persian. He has also taught me how kindness can impact different people and bring a smile to peoples faces. What a good day!

Not all dreams that stick with you are good.

I recently had a most disturbing dream. Last week I awoke and couldn't get these images out of my head. It's like I lived them. I can't imagine it ever happening in real life. Let me share it with you now.

It started with me driving down the road on my way to the grocery store to stockpile for a road trip, I started seeing people spin out of control and crash their cars. I was mortified as I witnessed a gold minivan run into a black two door at such speeds that the van barrel rolled over the car, landing in a fiery ball of steel and fiberglass. At first I assumed that a tire blew or someone was texting. Then I noticed a cloud-like swirl creeping towards me. As I realized something was very wrong, I began to feel dizzy. I noticed that fog was rolling towards the north. That had to be it! What the hell was it and how could I avoid it? My gut told me it was awful and to avoid it at all costs. I decided getting out of my vehicle was a bad idea so I drove the little RV I rented earlier in the day as far south as I could get. I knew I couldn't out run the wind to the North, my best chance was to get past wherever the originating point was. I had no clue where that was though. Did something happen at a nearby warehouse or did a oil tanker tip on the interstate? I didn't want to wait to find out. I figured I'd out run the smoke and get a clear head. There was a sense of urgency in everyone's road manners, or lack there of. All traffic laws went down the drain. There was a mass panic and only one goal on every drivers mind. Survive. For me, that meant tearing my camper van through yards, between houses and crashing through a chain linked fence to forge my own On-Ramp to the interstate. Driving down the map I could sense myself slowly fading. Not unlike hours of driving at night but willing yourself to keep going because you were 20 minutes from home. My determination diminished as I hit the gridlock where I would pray I would wake up from this living Hell. What I saw through my windshield was horrifying. There were  hundreds of people outside of their cars hoping they could make it past the bottleneck on foot. Men were ushering weeping women and carrying lifeless loved ones, mostly children. Each person pushing forward were trying different tactics to survive. Some held their shirts over their mouths, a couple conspiracy theorists had gas masks at the ready, others more fit determined if they ran that nothing could affect them. All of it was for not. Every last man, woman and child had been infected. I witnessed some of them in their last moments of bravery trying to save one another before eventually succumbing to deaths sweet kiss. It was at that moment when I accepted I wasn't going to move an inch. The RV's engine sputtered to a stop and I took my phone to call my parents one last time. I knew in my heart I wasn't going to escape this, if only I could say goodbye and hear their voices one last time. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, my heart hit the floor, the battery was dead. I didn't want to meet this miserable fate alone. As I broke down into what I can only describe as my last pleas for life. A loud noise stood out over my sobs from the back of the RV. Upon turning my head I saw two kids, a boy and a girl, playing at the table. They sneaked in from the door at the back of the automobile, it was still ajar letting in the gases full force. In a fury I kicked them out only to get into a scuffle with their mom. I told her off about being an inattentive mother and started crying as I wished to speak with my mom one last time before I met my end to this anonymous murderer. This woman instantly melted and took me in her arms to comfort me. Her husband slightly behind her handed me his phone with a reasonable charge. I was so grateful and allowed the whole family to come on board after the that kindness was shown to me by them. They could have easily been mean and rude back to me, but this family would not let death take away their humanity to others. Before I dialed, I asked if anyone knew our silent foe. My question was met with a grave answer. A massive bomb, so strong that the initial blast yielded zero survivors to warn of the event. Investigators went there almost immediately after the drop and were dead within minutes. It was believed to have contained both Sarin and Mustard gases. It had been diluted by the elements by the time it reached my home, but not enough to make it safe by any means. Upon hearing that news I attempted to call my dad, but kept messing up his phone number. I was incapable of thinking straight, my motor functions and memory were shutting down rapidly. After about 20 failed tries, I moved on to my moms number. It was the same thing, but alas! She answered! I felt at peace hearing my moms voice. She started to say something but I cut her off. I told her she needed to know about the bomb and protect herself before the gases reached her house hundreds of miles away. I told her I was stuck in gridlock and positive I was minutes from death. I felt it in my chest before I called. I told her I loved her and just wanted to hear her voice, maybe she could read to me? My mom asked me if I could see all the lights around me as people were stepping into them.  Not unlike one of our favorite shows to watch together about ghosts finding their afterlives. I was astonished! I could see it!! I watched as families of innocent lost souls crossed over. Not understanding how my mom knew what I was seeing, I asked her why she could see what I could? How could she?? My mom just audibly whispered in my ear to ask me to turn around. There she was!! She had been there the whole time. There was no way I could have been speaking to her on the phone. The phone was beeping a busy signal while laying on the floor. Her spirit was feet from me. She was dead...my mom was gone. I cried for her. She wrapped her arms around me tightly as if waiting to catch another giant sob. That's when it clicked, I had never seen or spoken with a ghost before, and I certainly shouldn't have been able to feel her warm embrace. Frantically, I looked around until my eyes laid upon a site I wont soon forget. My lifeless body leaning against the table as if I had just fallen asleep. I looked sadly peaceful in my death. It was wrong for me to be there gazing upon my last moment frozen on Earth. With that, my mom grabbed my hand the same way she did on my first day of kindergarten and smiled at me. She said, "Let's go, Sweetie." And with that we walked together into the light to find our next adventure, hand in hand.