I finally made a trip to the doctor today about my hip. After making me lie spread eagle donning one of those horrid gowns, she sent me for x-rays. On the order, she wrote to evaluate for spondylolisthesis or a pelvic brim. So I checked it out and gathered as much:
"Spondylolisthesis occurs when deformities or defects in part of a vertebra cause one vertebra to slip forward over another one. This causes misalignment of the bones of the spine (vertebrae). In some instances, this may lead to spinal cord or nerve root compression, back pain, and numbness or weakness in the legs. About 3% of people who see their doctors for low back pain have spondylolisthesis. Surgery is not often done for low back pain because, in most cases, the cause of pain cannot be helped by surgery. Surgery may be considered if you have an "unstable spine" condition, such as spondylolisthesis."
Well. After reading that, I'm hoping my results come back negative for that particular disease. Of course, I won't get my results until Monday because the radiologist left at 4:00. Naturally.
If that isn't the case, it could be something else like a sciatic nerve, which also is treated with surgery. But I read something about a wheat allergy that causes low back pain, gas, and abdominal cramps (all of which I have been experiencing). I don't think I could deal with that; my diet practically revolves around wheat products. I'm going to be a nervous wreck all weekend. Damn that radiologist.
Oh yeah...one more thing. Both of these conditions normally occur in people over the age of 40. What does that tell you about how I'm aging??
6:58 pm - 11.15.02
I sat down earlier hoping to write an entry to accomodate the test I took today. But I found that what I typed had no feeling; it was merely choppy sentences containing words like 'extremely' and 'usually.' What appeared in this little white box was not me. It was only taking up space.
I find that I do that sometimes. I'll attempt to scribe something phenomenal and oozing with emotion, but what I end up with is repetition, overly thesaurized word choice, and dreariness, to say the least. Even now I'm grasping for words that are just barely there; I have to grip my mind and wring it like a water-logged sponge just for the simplest ideas to take form. But if I'm lucky, it will have done it's job. The sponge will absorb all the liquified information available and store it; and it can only be fully released and enjoyed if I can squeeze just right.
Sometimes I wonder how well I'd do in my school writing if I applied myself to it as much as I do this journal. I can sit here for hours, typing my heart out into what was once a blank text box. When complete, it reflects me. It resembles me. It is me.
I'm in a college English course that requires at at least one paper each week. And with each assignment, I'll procrastinate and misprioritize it to death, no matter how hard I try to just pick up a pencil and do it. Mrs. P tells me that my writing is 'worth the wait,' and that she loves my openly explicit style. However, I know her patience must be wearing thin with my delayed response to her requests. It's just that I can't seem to write with any passion unless it's pertaining to a life-changing event that I have experienced, or something close to that. I have no passion for Cinderella; I care not that her story has been manipulated to make her seem less powerful. The feminists are raving about the inaccuracy with which her character is now portrayed. But nonetheless, Cinderella is my next assignment. And like it or not, I have to come up with something by tomorrow.
Mrs. P has also told me that I have a unique mind that sees the world in a way not many others can. I'd like to think that she speaks sincerely, and I know she has good intentions. But I have a hard time grasping the fact that I may be out of the ordinary in a positive way. When I look in the mirror, I see the same long brown hair and blue eyes that is plastered on millions of other girls that are as plastic and unaware of their purpose in life as a barbie doll. And though I know I'm not one of them, I cannot prevent envisioning myself in a line of clones, each more ignorant and oblivious than the one before. I don't want to be one of them. I live my life every day striving to steer clear of the conformity that is High School America today. I don't want to be sucked in, don't want to be seen as 'just another teenager.' I want them to know who I am. I want them to know me as the one who saw things differently than everyone else; the one who wasn't blind to what is truly going on.
But more than anything, I want to know in my own heart that I'm not blind.
I think the vision is making itself clear.
10:52 pm - 11.14.02
Took this test today...more analysis to follow. I have work now.
Disorder | Rating |
Paranoid: | Very High |
Schizoid: | High |
Schizotypal: | High |
Antisocial: | High |
Borderline: | Moderate |
Histrionic: | High |
Narcissistic: | High |
Avoidant: | Moderate |
Dependent: | Moderate |
Obsessive-Compulsive: | High |
-- Click Here To Take The Test -- |
3:16 pm - 11.14.02
I don't like being called a bitch. When you inflicted your words upon me, you did so much more than shoot me down vocally. You injured my sanity, punctured my spirit. My respect for you withered, never again to be fully restored.
He said, "You better pray to Jesus."
She said, "I don�t believe in God."
A simple fear to wash you away,
An open mind cancelled it today...
I don't like being told that I'm going to hell. To me, hell is a figment of a misguided imagination. It does not exist in my mind. I'm beyond that; when I die, I'll simply be gone. Don't tell me to tattoo 'hellbound' across my back in Old English letters. You felt that you were assisting me in turning me away from my sin-filled lifestyle; however, you forgot to consider that I wouldn't listen to you. And I didn't listen. When you talk, all I hear is idiocracy beating down the door. You don't know of what you speak, and you don't live by your own words. I've been there, I've witnessed. Your faith does not apply to me. Why must you force it upon me?
He said, "You better pray to Jesus."
She said, "I don�t believe in God."
A simple fear to wash you away,
An open mind cancelled it today...
I don't appreciate you pretending that you're better than me. What you don't realize is that everyone can see through your facade. They can see clearly your false pretenses. You're not fooling anyone; why can't you just admit that you're wrong? You project yourself to me as if I'm lucky that you even pay me any mind. But when I attempt to shun you, you won't just leave me to my dark corner.
He said, "You better pray to Jesus."
She said, "I don�t believe in God."
A simple fear to wash you away,
An open mind cancelled it today...
I don't like being told to 'grow tougher skin,' to 'stop crying over baby shit.' You told me to 'quit faking depression.' You said my life wasn't that bad, and that you weren't going to feel sorry for me. I never asked for your sympathy, and I didn't appreciate hearing your opinion. If I was faking depression as you accuse, then I must have much more severe mental problems than just the blues. That is not the case; I am not depressed. I'm simply longing for someone to listen without throwing accusations in my direction like a serrated knife. Don't speak of that which you do not know.
He said, "You better pray to Jesus."
She said, "I don�t believe in God."
A simple fear to wash you away,
An open mind cancelled it today...
Most of all, I don't like being treated this way by someone I considered a friend before the above incidents occured. As a friend, you should be open-minded and accepting of my views, whether you agree with them or not. You should be my supporter, not my enemy. I shouldn't feel ashamed of things when I tell them to you; I should be confident that I'll receive worthwhile advice and shoulder to cry on if need be. I was given none of these things, and for that I will never see you in the same light again.
He said, "You better pray to Jesus."
She said, "I don�t believe in God."
A simple fear to wash you away,
An open mind cancelled it today...
Today, you pretended nothing had happened. You went about your day as if I were no more than a mere fly buzzing in your face; you shooed me away. When I wouldn't retreat, you stomped me into the cement. You muffled my words, shrouded my gestures of distress.
Today, you killed me.
How can you live with yourself?
7:57 pm - 11.13.02
Recent entries:
I'm not Allyson! - 07.09.03
- - 06.24.03
a new chapter - 06.23.03
the end of the non-existent beginning - 06.23.03
just when I thought it was over... - 06.22.03
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