Wasted Time

If I died today and wrote my own obituary their would only be two words in it. “Wasted Time”

I have had all the time in the world and my only accomplishment is that I’m not dead. I haven’t done a thing to make sure I stay alive. I don’t eat healthy. I don’t exercise. I don’t keep up with my doctor visits and yet I’m still here. It’s as if I have a death wish, but no one wants to oblige that wish.

When you’re in high school their is this part of you that is confused. Throughout your life someone has made decisions for you. The rules were set and you went to school everyday, but then that day comes where you have to decide what to do with the rest of your life. For me, at age 38 I still have no fucking clue. I’ve used my disease as the excuse. I was supposed to be dead by the time I turned 18, but I’m not.

College never seemed possible to me even though at that age there was still a lot I could do. I was able to dress myself, cook for myself and was still able to transfer myself. As I struggle now to get my arm on the armrest of my wheelchair or move my hands, I regret a ton of shit.

There is no manual on how to live life for anyone. I wasn’t any different from anyone else. What I needed was for somebody to tell me that and no one ever did or if they did I didn’t hear them.

I did go to community college when I was 19 and those were the best years of my life. Not because of my education, but because I felt alive on campus. I’d talk to people and make them laugh. I’d flirt with girls and they didn’t runaway in horror. The problem was that I couldn’t do anything off campus. It was just go home. I couldn’t go to parties I was invited to or go on dates that I could have. I just went home while others worked, partied or fucked. The depressing part to me is that if I had my own apartment then or the knowledge of the help I could’ve had then my story is completely different. That doesn’t fix anything now. That’s just pitying myself.

Once I moved at 29 my life got better. I finally had freedom and started to think maybe I could make something of myself. Around 2006 I started thinking of going back to school. I did everything and all I had to do was register for classes, but when the only courses I could start with were English II and a math elective I didn’t register. All the courses I wanted to take for my major were in the fall semester and I was registering for spring 2007. Did I chicken out? Was I scared or just not ready?

That was the last thing I tried before I got sick. Since 2008 I’ve just been battling to get that freedom back. Truth is I won’t get that freedom back and I’ve given up my dreams.

Am I fixable? Can I finally find something to accomplish? I don’t know. Hopefully writing this will wake the part of me that is dead back up. Then again that’s what I said when I started this blog that I’ve neglected. I’ve tried to post stuff, but it always turns to whiny or comes off like I’m seeking pity. I just wrote the truth tonight and I posted it. That’s a start. At least now you know why my grammar sucks.

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  1. In Memoriam: Mark Marinelli, @MarkM625 « Poppa Culture says:

    [...] it came to his health, Mark had a strength and spirit that we can all aspire to. Naturally, he had dark times and went through periods of doubt and depression. But I will always remember his “presence” on Twitter — smart, witty and always ready [...]

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