Seeking Help

For 31-years, I've been stubborn.

When I was six, I didn't want my mom to help me tie the laces of my Reebok's because I was determined to find out how to do it myself.

When I was 15-years old and in College Algebra and Trig in high school, I couldn't figure out the differences between a Tangent and Cotangent. Well, I knew there was a difference between the two, but I didn't understand why. My teacher, Mr. Somethingoranother told me that I could come to his classroom anytime that I wanted and he'd help me to understand. I never went because I was determined to figure out the whole scheme of things on my own. And I did.

When I was twenty-two, I was in rehab after my accident and had to move around the room I was in, the floor I was on and the cafeteria I ate in every day via wheelchair. I hated that fucking thing. It made me feel horrible. That I needed something to help me because my pelvis was broken and had two iron rods 14 inches long sticking out of each hip. Each time I was supposed to be someplace to rehab this, that or the other thing, I had to have a therapist walk behind me while I wheeled my happy ass to the next room. Until I refused to use it anymore. They said I had to. I told them to get fucked. They told me I would miss my therapy session if I didn't get in the chair and go to the next room. I told them I liked where I was, that I didn't want to go. They told me fine, that they'd be back after the therapy session I would be missing to see if I had changed my mind about wheeling myself to the next room I had to go to. The therapist left, I pulled myself up out of the chair, leaned against the wall and drug my happy ass down the hallway to the next fucking room. I didn't need a fucking wheelchair.

When I was twenty four, I came back to school. Didn't know shit about shit but was certain that I could do it. In high school, I was a C student, barley. Most grades I "earned" were C's with an occasional D. Hey, D's are still passing in my book. When I enrolled in school, they reviewed my h.s. GPA and my medical records from my accident (I had a traumatic brain injury which qualified me as "special") and told me that I would be given extended time periods for exams and writing assignments, that I would be allowed to go to "quiet" rooms to take my exams and that I would be given a person to take notes for me in all of my classes. Fuck you, said I. If I was going to school, I wanted to go to school. I wanted to take the tests, to take the fucking notes and do them all in the time period given to everybody else in the class with me. When I graduated college, my GPA was 3.65 on a 4.0 scale. I did so well cause I was determined to do it alone.

But this problem I've got now, fuck, I can use some help.

The woman I love, the woman I know that I want to spend the rest of my life loving, both, is and has, removed/removing me from her life.

While she was here with me, she made me a better person. Though it was a slow change that she never did truly see, because of knowing her for the time that I did, I will always be in debt to her. And I know that she will never think that I've changed nor will she ever admit to wanting to change me, I'm a completely different person.

Some might say that I'm a compulsive disorder. Some might say that I'm flat out fucking crazy. Some might even say, which I'm sure that they would if they ever read this, that I need to get over it, move on with my life and forget her.

But that's the problem. I don't want to. And for the first time in my life, I'm asking for help to do just that.

Waterbed, if you read this, know that I still love you to death and hope to God that you're happy where you are now. I miss you kid.