Monthly Archives: June 2015

The Children are Our Future

In January 2013 I posted this on a page for single moms with autistic kids on FB. Within minutes it when viral. Or at least viral for me. Over 30,000 likes and over 5,000 shares on just that page alone. I have no clue where else it went. An old friend of mine tracked me down through this photo today and told me how much hope it gave her. So I wanted to share it with you this morning. These two are my reasons to keep on trucking. Because they are our future and our future looks bright. (I’ve included the original post below the photo). Feel free to share away397594_485473171491649_2057575986_n“Most grownups don’t understand Asperger’s. My three year old daughter does… Jayson said, “Kay I’m not feeling good, I forgot my blanket. I need pressure.” This is what she did. No questions. No fighting. They are watching TV…I love my kids.”

I will write more on Aspies and Autism and our family’s struggles and victories at another time but I wanted to share that with you and this with you. Everyday is something brand new when you have a kiddo on the spectrum, it wonderous and exciting, it is terrifying and sometimes you just want to cry. But the rewards are so worth it.

Always

Shaye

xoxo

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On a Lighter Note….Marriage Equality

Now I know you think I am going to go on and on about my thoughts and what not about marriage equalisty and so forth. But no. I am just going to share this tidbit of a conversation I had with my 6 year old tonight :

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Pixie? Why are your Barbies kissin?

P- Well, they just got married.

Me – Is that so?

P- Yupp!

Me – They didn’t want to marry boys?

P -Nope! Girls have softer lips!!!!

Me – *cracks up*

And people say that our future is doomed…does that sound like the doom song? Nope? I can sing you the doom song…Trust me I grew up on Invader Zim <#

Always,

Shaye

xoxo

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Had a Bad Day Again

Said he would not understand, I left a note and said I’m sorry I, had a bad day again.

Suicidal ideation, thoughts of scratching and cutting and taking all the happy pills just to see if they would make me happy, or make me fall asleep and wake up in a land where I was happy again. But I couldn’t do that, or at least I wouldn’t. For various reasons, number one and always number one is the kids, I wouldn’t let Trip have them. He didn’t deserve them, in my eyes he donated his sperm to my miracles and that was that. He didn’t deserve the title of Dad let alone Father, he does nothing for them save for spoil them and make them think he loves them when I know the truth, they will know the truth one day too. A harsh reality when they are teens and they find out the kind of person he really is. But I won’t tell them, it isn’t my place, just as it wasn’t my mother’s place to tell us (even though she did). Number two, I was a wuss, always had been. I lined up pills one by one by one and took them all, over two hundred when I was 13 and they told my best friends best friend, who hated me that I was going to die. I took them in the lunchroom at breakfast, no one stopped me but I didn’t want to die I was just tired of being awake and when I woke up finally in a hospital bed, my mother took me home and berated me. And for the next 5 years of my life tossed a big bottle full of pills at me whenever I was sad asking me if it would make it hurt less. It only made it worse because I knew she wouldn’t understand. So last night, instead of doing those things.

I punch the cabinet. Hard.

I don’t hit things.

I have weak girly hands.

But I punched it hard, two or three times. I lost count. But my hand bled and I felt calmer.

Now my hand is swollen, my primary hand. The dominant one.

I can’t even get off because my hand is bruised and swollen. But I guess what does it matter right?

And then we fought again. Charming and I. We fought and fought and I don’t know why. Because I needed to take my anger out somewhere and though he wanted me to write a book, he doesn’t understand why the blog was a stepping stone.

He doesn’t read it – invalidating

He didn’t thank me for cooking a healthy dinner four nights in a row – invalidating

He didn’t day he was proud of me for finding lawyers for what I went through in the ER – invalidating

He didn’t say I did a good job cleaning the kitchen even though standing hurts o much after 5 minutes and it took nearly two hours to do it – invalidating

He said I need to grow up. Need to stop placing blame and making excuses. Need to take responsibilities for my own actions. Asked me if this was the point I would turn around and start finding people to mess around with like I warned him I would when I felt I was invalidated in the beginning of our relationship. I cried, I sobbed. I never even look at anyone anymore.

I tried to explain to him my last fling before I saw him again, he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear that it was always him I wanted and how I felt lucky to have him. How I loved him and how I wanted to be with him and I was with him because he pushed me and made me believe in myself. How he got me through PTSD and my triggers and how I was finally writing because of him. We can’t even spend a date night alone without fighting about something. He says I hide in my computer. Well my friends live in here. They do all of you who have validated me during the abuse when I had nowhere else to turn to. He was the one that said I would write a best seller but doesn’t understand why it had to start here.

He said I didn’t know how to be a person anymore.

Is he right? Have I forgotten how to be a person? Have I forgotten the basic principles of being personable? My phone has been broken for almost two weeks and it is so freeing so I blog and I play with the kids and I cook and I clean. And yesterday was a bad day for so many reasons but I am not a person. I look at pictures and cry and try to figure out when the mental illness started. When I stopped being real and started being a mental case. When I stopped being all the colors and became black and white. When I just because borderline. When I became all about me. The narcissist that hates looking in mirrors. The one that understands why her friends hung themselves or took too many pills. The one that feels guilty for their grandmother dying or their babies making their way to heaven. The one that just wishes they could start over where no one knew their name.

But there are crises at home that are too big to bear. The one roll of toilet paper for 4 people that has to last at least a week. The lack of money for medication. The lingering eviction notice and nowhere to go. The fact that if Trip finds out any of this, then I am screwed because maybe just maybe he will take the one this that is keeping me grounded away from me again. A year ago I was happy, well a year and 6 months. I was 150lbs lighter. I looked amazing and I smiled. I was alive, I felt good I had a 3.0GPA. Now I can barely move, I am sick all the time. I can’t afford my medicine and I hide how poor we really are from my kids. There are no movies and no friends allowed at the house because I can’t afford to feed them. Welfare moms have nothing on me. They show up and they are fine and I am not. They have phones and I don’t. I have nothing.

I no longer know how to be a person.

Summertime Blues

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I can still smell the ocean off the sand. I can feel the planks of wood well-worn under my feet. It is a comforting feeling, and whether I am 5 or I am 15 I hold your hand it feel some very natural. We chat about school, about clothes, about movies and about absolutely nothing in particular. We stay out of the way or the bikes and the tourists and sometimes on the days you don’t need an ass and the sun is not too hot we make our way on the hot sand and just pick up shells and coral and rocks off the shore. The sea foam hitting or feet. I always find tigers eyes and it is our favorite, we love tigers eye. I can’t find tigers eye that mean the same anymore.

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When we are not at the shore I can smell hotdogs and French fries. The best French fires in the world. And we never have to go to Coney Island to get them. Because there is a place, our place, not more than a few miles from where you bought me all that awesome clothing. From where I had no fear to try on anything, I would spin and spin and let you pull and tuck and give me your honest opinion. Because you never hurt me with your opinion. Not even when I was older, when I was vulnerable to everyone. Not even when I didn’t want anyone to tell me how I looked or what to wear, I didn’t always listen but I valued our opinion. And after we ate you would kick my ass at rounds of skee ball, granted you were the one that taught me how to play, but you never just let me win. You gave me all your tickets and I would buy silly cheap prizes from the stand and we would get so excited over the friendship bracelets that would fall apart in a week and the candy that was terrible for us.

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The slumber parties at your house were epic, not because you were one to bake, but because you introduced me to movies like Beaches, La Bamba, Schindler’s List and Mister Holland’s Opus. You had every issue of Time magazine. You answered all the questions I had with patience and understanding even though I had some tough ones. You didn’t care if I turned the La Bamba sound track waaaaaaay up on your stereo as long as you go to see my new dance moves to “Summertime Blues”, you would stop in your tracks to hear me sing along to “Wind Beneath my Wings” (that was our song). You called the refrigerator the Frigidaire and wore this weird brown towel wrap thingie when you got out of the shower. You always smelled the same. You collected little perfume bottles even when there wasn’t any perfume in them. You had the weirdest looking feet but they were always painted up and pretty. I knew every new diet fad before it became one because you had them all. I used to go out on the balcony just to watch the cute boys walk home from school and you knew what I was doing on the days you were home but you never said a word.

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My first Broadway show, Cats men and women in spandex prancing around the stage singing. It changed my life in so many ways. You had already shown me so much in the style of music but this was different. It was BROADWAY. There was nothing better in my mind. As I grew older I had to share you but you were still mine, I had you first and for the longest. I didn’t call as often but when we talked nothing changes. The shopping trips and the hotdogs, the sleep overs, La Bamba. We got our nails done together, it was our new hobby. And if I hadn’t pissed you off we would have seen Cabaret together but that actually bright my mother and I closer so who am I to split hairs?

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When I got so sick, you were there in the hospital to hold me hand, to make sure I wasn’t scared. You were there praying that the big needle didn’t scare me, that the leukemia wasn’t my fate but yours, that your #1 didn’t have what would eventually kill you…and I didn’t. I got lucky, it was just a chronic illness, not a terminal illness. A few years later you died of the same thing that was meant to kill me. Your body couldn’t handle it but I am pretty sure I could have fought it off. I watched you fall apart and then you bounced back but the second time around just went too quickly. I flew down there and crawled into your hospital bed and help you. I remedied you that you had to get better to we could take on the town. I told you we had to fix your hair because you weren’t looking very Ursula-ish that day (from the Little Mermaid). You told me to go into your show closet and take whatever I want, I knew I wasn’t allowed to cry but in that closet surrounded by dozens of pairs of shoes I let the tears streak my face because I wasn’t ready to let you go. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not to my best friend. I was only 20, I hadn’t met the love of my life yet, or had babies, or graduated college. We had so many adventures left to have, so many more walks, so many more talks. I hadn’t called you enough, or visited enough in the past few years. I had been so wrapped up in my own life, would it have killed me to have picked up the phone once in a while or come down to see you? I prayed, I don’t pray but I prayed that night, because I knew you weren’t don’t saying goodbye but I knew it was the last time I was going to see you. I was so sad and angry and guilty and ashamed. I was so many things at once. I couldn’t cry in front of you, I wasn’t allowed to, I had to be strong. But I never knew how to be strong. You were my strong. The fourth day was there and it was time to fly my brothers and I back home, we stood by your bed and I sang, I sang our song, you know, “Wind Beneath my Wings”, and I held myself together until that hospital room door closed. Then I fell inwards, inside myself. I had no one to lean one. The boys were too young and my Mom was going through her own stuff, I barely spoke to my father and I just was so lost.

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I am still lost my dear GK, I have bills to pay, and rent that’s own. I had two amazing kids to take care of and moods that swing back and forth. I feel guilty about everything and I can’t see things the way I used to. I try and try and try to find the simple things in life. I don’t know what I want anymore. I try to make everyone else proud and I realize it is my turn. And I was proud when I walked across that stage at 31 and finally had a degree. But you weren’t there, and a piece of my heart was missing. Let me tell you what I do have. I have two amazingly gorgeous kids that you would love so much, they sparkle and shine and are so very smart. They love to sing and dance and shop and just be in every fee moment of their lives. I have finally found an amazing man that loves me so very much. He is good to these kids GK, like the Brit was good to my brothers and me. I am finally writing, like you always said I should, and I am taking pictures when I can. The past year has been hard but I am surviving like you taught me I could.

Today is your day and here I am rambling on and on about things you already know because you can see me. Today I watch our movies and sing our songs. Today I will ty to introduce the kids to things that you taught me. Just like every day I try to instill the values you taught me onto them. In all the heavens I never missed anyone as much as I miss you.

Love you so much,

Your #1

Shaye Rae

xoxo

Happy Heavenly Birthday GK!!!!!! June 28, 1939 – August 22, 2003

Happy Birthday GK

Happy Birthday My GK,

I know you are up there in heaven looking down and celebrating. I know you are sending the butterflies and holding my angel babies and they are giving you such joy. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of you and wish you were here to see you great grandbabies grow. Or meet the love of my life. Or call me because you don’t know how to block that creepy guy on Facebook. I miss you so very very much. I love you to the moon and back. Play a game of ski ball for me. And kiss my babes.

I love you so much.
Your #1

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I Can’t Breathe Part 2

I know I had promised this earlier today, but today was a helluvah day and after everything I thought I was too beaten down to write. But here I am watching Braveheart and on the computer. This is probably going to be my shortest installment of the saga because it was a deep deep depression that I fell into before anything even remotely started to move towards the light….So where was I…Ahh yes

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I fell to my knees in front of the diner.

I couldn’t breathe.

War and Grumpy found my not too long after that in a heap on the group, my phone cracked as it has fallen from my hands. My mother still yelling into the other line. I was rocking back and forth. My world was spinning and my fingernails were digging into my skin. My mind was racing. I didn’t know what went wrong. As War calmly picked up the phone to calm my mother down Grumpy lit me a ciggie and helped me to my feet. There were holes in my jeans here I had ripped there against the pavement. Grumpy leaned me against his heft as he held my wrists so I could not bring up any more red dots of blood to my akin. I tripped over my own feet as he placed me in the back of the car and slid in beside me, his hands still gently holding mine as I rambled on nonsensically about summer plans and how it didn’t make sense.

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My mother was blaming me, I had done something wrong. Something about cat pee and the bathroom being gross. Something about the living been covered in moldy food and the kids not being promoted to the next grade. How there were too many absences. It didn’t make sense. We arrived home. War and Grumpy helped me up the stairs and heavily medicated me with mouse cake and my meds. War held me and stroked my hair and whispered to me as I fitfully fell asleep.

I was up at exactly 8 am. Trip would not pick up his phone for over 30 minutes. I paced around my neighborhood waiting to speak to him, waiting to find out what happened, what happened while I was in the hospital that made him take our kids. After he left the three of us while our daughter was in my belly and our son was a year and a half old. He only visited 3 times from across the country till our son turned 4 and then I let him stay unemployed on my couch for six whole months just because I thought he needed a relationship with the children. He thought he needed a relationship with his phone and beer. When he moved an hour away his barley saw him. It wasn’t until he was four hours away and was in a relationship with an older woman who had a on our sons age that he even made an effort and believe you me it wasn’t much f one. Even right before the hospital, he wasn’t calling. And trust me the kids had no interest in calling them. I hated them, I hated them because he owed me child support, because he wasn’t working, because she was spoiling him and he was evil and had hurt me but more he had hurt his kids. They told me once he was more like a big brother. And that coming from a child with Asperger’s is a huge deal. So what in the holy fuck was going on?

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A half hour later he told me that they went upstairs and the house was a sty, there was food and cat piss everywhere. And cat shit. That there was shit in and on the toilet. That she took pictures. That the kid’s clothes smelled like cat piss. That the school said they were never there and were not passing. That there was no food in the fridge. He told he had a lawyer who was drawing up papers for full custody and that I could visit. That he wanted me to be part of their lives but obviously I couldn’t take care of them. He told me the school said they were failing out. That they wouldn’t go up in grades. He told me our son was already going to her son’s school and was doing better, that he enrolled our daughter in kindergarten for next year. That I was not fit to be a mother, I didn’t have the means to take care of them. It was that point I lost it.

I screamed, I yelled, I asked him who the fuck he thought he was. I was only in the hospital a few days and my house was clean. I knew for a fact the toilet wasn’t dirty because our snow as anal retentive about that. I knew he only sent her upstairs because he stayed in the car, my roomie told me that. She never went upstairs nor in our fridge. I knew that she didn’t go anywhere but the living room and bathroom and that the living room had laundry that needed to be folded and the kids were having a carpet picnic in front of the TV and mind you our cat only goes in her litterbox unless it is NOT cleaned. And she wouldn’t poop anywhere else. I knew the kids weren’t failing or the teacher would have spoken to me I was close to them, and he hadn’t picked up school work because I got emailed by them as well that it was never picked up. And how the hell could he enroll them when he had none of their medical records or insurance cards. Fuck he didn’t even have their social security numbers. He wasn’t sanctioned by me to obtain any of that stuff so how could he do that? WHY would he do that? I slid my back down against a telephone pole and cried, not because of the splinters but the internal pain.

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Trip, I said, why are you doing this to me? They are happy and healthy. Jayson has all of his doctors here and his appointments. He has his therapist and med checks here how you could pull him away from that. You weren’t even around. They have a roof, food, clothes and are happy, what are you doing. He told me that he could provide better for them. (Meaning she could because he wasn’t doing anything). He hung up telling me I had to calm down before I called him back. 15 minutes later…and a bunch of wood splinters removed from my back I tried to make my voice as cheery as possible as I talked to our son.

I asked him if he was having fun and how everything was. He said it was ok, but there were no books to read and all they wanted to do was watch TV or play video games. But the teacher as her son’s school was cool, gave him extra work because he already knew what she was teaching. Something sounded off. He asked if I was better and when he could come home. I told him I was still in bed but as soon as I was 100% I would see him. It broke my heart. My daughter was worse, she sounded a mess (I founded after it was over she cried for me every night). She told me it was ok. The dog was good, she missed me lots and was happy I wasn’t going to heaven (that’s what she equates hospitals with). She said she wanted to come home. but since we were talking on speaker phone Trip nipped that in the bud quite quickly and she said I love you bye. Trip said I could call whenever I liked but I had to text him first. And then it was done.

I had just received a refund check and as I went upstairs I watched all of my check fall into the hands of an amazing attorney (whom I still own money too). I crawled into bed, barely talked to anyone, including war and medicated myself to not feel my pain. I spoke to my mom every day, four times a day. But I had no words. Who had words when you just can’t breathe?

Part 3 coming up soon….hopefully

Sparkle thoughts

Shaye

xoxo

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Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Depression: It’s Okay

This is incredible. I aspire to be as open and honest as this. I am getting there, but must take care of the asinine petty stuff first.

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For many of you, suicide may just sound like something “cowards” or “weak” people do. You’ve probably cracked some jokes about it with your friends, playfully told people, “Just go kill yourself”, or maybe even looked down upon someone who actually attempted to kill themselves. The same goes for victims of cutting/self-harm and depression. These people seem to get rejected by society, even picked on for being vulnerable. I’m not trying to justify suicide or self-harm here. I don’t believe there is any justification in taking your own life or hurting yourself. What I’m trying to get at is, there is a major problem in our society. If someone is hurting themselves, thinking about taking their own life, or suffering from depression the LAST thing you should do is pick on them. It highlights a repulsive flaw in your character, and is extremely detrimental to the person who is suffering…

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Trigger Warnings, Sex and all that other Fun Jazz

There are a lot of blogs out there that have a disclaimer up that you have to be above the age of legal consent (18) to read it. I don’t believe in warnings like that i want this blog to be able to be read by anyone and everyone that wants to. I have a lot of information on it that I wish I had an older sister to tell me as I was growing up, or eve a therapist. But I didn’t so here is the score my loves. I am going to try and moderate as best as I can but I ask you to use your discretion when it comes to reading.

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Trigger Warnings –

Occasionally you will see this writen at the top of the post. The means in no way shape or form, if you have things that trigger a bad mental health state, PTSD or anything of the like you probably should not read what it says. Believe the warning. They can cover anything from suicide to teen pregnant, self harm to suicidal ideation, cutting to eating disorders, bipolarity to borderline. Rape to other forms of sexual PTSD.

PLEASE!! If any of these thing trigger you please don’t read these posts, and if you feel the urge to then talk to someone else about them after words, even me, I would happily expand on my thoughts feeling and anything else. I truly believe that people are meant to read the truth when they are ready to hand it.

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Sex –

I have Borderline Personality Disorder with Narcissistic Tendencies. Sex will be a big part of my blog, in fact I am starting a whole page based off a book i am currently writing about sex. I am looking for contributors always and those who have different vices that their borderline brings out in them. Sex and sexual encounters is mine. I started writing a book about my encounters long ago. So a lot of my vice is in there, but all of my ultimate intimate stuff with be on a separate tab.

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Fun Jazz-

I realize when I started to write this post, I was heavily medicated from a dental procedure and I tried to reread it…but alas could not. I will be writing about my past my present and my future. I will be turning around and going into clinical definitions of diagnosis and therapies. I will be including some of my fictional works, works from contributors and places to reach out for help should you need it.

 

Also there is a tab of stuff that I have wrote from my past, some of it goes back as far as elementary and middle school, some of it as new as last year. I would be honored if you read it and let me know what you thought.

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This blog has become a place of refuge for me. A place that I can finally start my book, let the world know what I am thinking and reach out and help the people out there that don’t believe they deserve help, or don’t know where to get it.

Sparkle thoughts,

Shaye

xoxo

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Not Enough Spoons in the Day

This is what I posted on the FB page but I will go into a little more detail here –

So I spent the majority of the day either in the ER or sleeping. I know I promise the continuation of the I Can’t Breathe Saga but my health comes first. I will be posting more tonight, just can’t let myself get wiped out emotionally as well. In just a few days my blog has grown by leaps and bounds and I am so humbled that I am touching so many peoples lives in a positive way. SO keep sharing, keep the feedback coming in, and me, I will keep writing.
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The fact of the matter is this, with the change in Medical Assistance and Medicaid in general I ran out of Dental insurance over a year and a half ago. I take really good care of my teeth but I have always had bad teeth. I am terrified of dentists (that is for another long post), and when I was a teenager I had a dentist that really really fucked up my mouth. So I am just full of crowns and other lovely things. I generally, when I have insurance, am great on upkeep, however because of medications, surgeries and my pregnancy to my angel baby, my teeth too the brunt of the damage. I saw a dentist (finally found one that took my insurance) on Monday and I have to have two teeth pulled next week, but I have an awful infection. So it’s antibiotics and Motrin (which doesn’t work but I got upgraded to something betterish).

Now the only reason I told you any of this is because I have 4 autoimmune diseases (once again long posts to follow at some point), 1 of them being blood based where my body can’t fight off infection the way it is supposed to. (No it isn’t HIV or AIDS…No judging or jumping to conclusions here people). So I am on a neverending dosage of antibiotics and or steroids. I blow up, I am miserable and I feel awful all the time. Which feeds into another of my autoimmune issues making it difficult to function. (and you would think I was on disability for those, but NOOOO it’s cuz I am Bipolar and Borderline…Go Figure),

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Now….The reason I am even here explaining this is because, I don’t give myself a break. EVER. It’s the narcissist. The Mommy. The Borderline. The Manic. The Superhero. The Leo. Today I genuinely tried to give myself a break and went to the hospital for a break, in so much pain I couldn’t really walk, I was foggy and blacking out and in tons of pain. Let’s just say the doctor was other than nice. Hence I am apologizing, because I feel extreme guilt for not being able to share things with you….That’s who I am.

“Take me for what I am
Who I was meant to be
And if you give a damn
Take me baby or leave me”RENT

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By the by I have included the link to the definition of a Spoonie by the originator herself and a cute little graphic to go along with it.

The Spoon Theory

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Sparkle Thoughts

Shaye

xoxo