Death, Gobstoppers And Blood Mountain

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I think about death every day. Not the sweet seductive Twilight-inspired death or even something quick and painless – just death. Make no mistake about it, I have no plans to kill myself but my daily routine has changed. Instead of waking up and thanking whatever higher power there is, I curse the sunlight and fact that I have to endure another day of excruciating pain. How can you describe pain so that someone else will be able to understand it? You can't – at best you can give them a peek behind the curtain. The past 48 hours have been the most emotionally, mentally and physically taxing. I refuse to go back into a wheelchair even though every single step I take with my prosthetics on feel like nails are being driven into my skin, muscles and bones. I never really believed it when people said that they were in so much pain that they saw stars or everything went black and white. What keeps me from swallowing my gun? The hope that one day I'll wake up and everything will be 'fixed'. That’s a pipedream at best because my legs are never growing back. Starting my hike on the Appalachian Trail used to be enough to keep me mentally focused but now, well, its hard to visualize that when simply walking from the kitchen to the livingroom has me in tears. Someone once said "Don't dwell on your problems, someone always has it worse than you". That's meant to put things in perspective but at this point in time it feels belittling when someone says it to me. So for now I'll pop another Wonky Gobstopper and try to ignore the pain. Forrest Gump had his mamma's box of chocolates, I have my hundred layer Gobstoppers.