Addiction-Part 3

After I was finished being hysterical and crying, I realized something. It occurred to me I didn't give a damn what he thought. Who the hell is he to judge me? Just because I look "normal" doesn't mean a damn thing. He's only one person. I know I'm innocent. Gil knows, my kids know. In the end, that's the only thing that matters. Good riddance to you and your I-Know-An-Addict-When-I-See-One-attitude. You're not a doctor, nor do you know me. You don't know the hell I've lived through since 2003. Many others have stood where you, Mr. Cop, stood that day. They said much worse about me. Even the people I worked with day after day said things about me that still hurt to this day. Had you stopped to really look at me, look into my eyes, you would have known the truth. You would've seen my legs and feet which were, and are, not a "normal" color. The pain, you would see the pain that lurks in my eyes day after day. The flames of Hell which burn brightly within my body without end.

To anyone out there who would judge me simply because I look "normal', I hope you are never in my position. I hope you are never on the receiving end of judgment from others. The looks, the snide remarks and hostile attitude from the people in the pharmacy who think I don't need pain pills because I look healthy. The endless explanations of what is "wrong" with me and why I take medications. Then, after the explanations are done, you keep judging me because you've never heard of my disorder. You think it's something I made up just to pop pills. I have the most gullible doctor in the world. I made it all up, diagnosed myself, told him the fairy tale of RSD/CRPS, and he gives me "drugs" because he believes me. Sure, I'm just that awesome. I'm also some kind of Goddess to make all these RSD/CRPS symptoms appear for your amusement.

My life is one big laugh fest. I love having something no one has ever heard of. I love being called lazy. I especially love being told I'm not only faking it, but I'm "milking" the system. What system is that exactly? Oh, the worker's comp system for the first year and a half with this "made up" disorder. Sure, I raked in tons of money. So much in fact, we're secretly rich and live like poor people to get sympathy. Sorry, I made as much, sometimes more, in one week at my job then I received in two weeks from them. I've never been lazy a day in my life. The other system would be social security. I hate to tell you this but I don't sit at home raking those whopping checks in. I don't qualify for disability. At the time of my accident and resulting pain, I hadn't worked long enough. I don't get SSI because Gil makes too much money. That applies to food stamps and medicaid too just in case you think I'm a drain on your hard earned tax dollars.

I am just me in the end. I'm a short, scrappy woman with a huge sense of humor. I am not only a smart ass, but a brainy one. I'm a survivor and a fighter. I don't let pain rule my life. I love my kids more than life itself. I enjoy every second of the day, even the days I wish I could die because the pain is so bad. Life is too short not to live it to the fullest. I'm loyal to those I love and would die for any of them should the need arise. I don't judge others and hope at the end of all the words I have put on this virtual paper, you won't judge other people either. You'll take a second to stop and remind yourself you don't know them. To understand not all disabilities are visible on the outside of this shell we call our bodies.