Once upon a time I had five core friends. People made fun of me all my life. I was the deaf kid. The kid with giant glasses. The kid that looked different. The kid that had no friends. The kid with a crazy mother. The kid that talked funny. I got called names. A lot. I hated myself growing up. I truly did. Why? Other kids. But, in second grade I met a girl named Naomi. She had a hard time talking. She had cystic fibrosis. Soon a normal girl named Katie begun hanging out with us. These were my first two friends that were my age.

The school was impressed with the girl for making friends with me and Naomi. They called mine and her parents in and gave us both awards. For being good people. This pleased me. A lot. I also had other friends, adult friends as a kid. A woman named Dollie, she used to watch me a lot. Owned a dairy, was active, understood me. Always knew how to make me smile. And a neighbor, Wilson. Wilson played games, inspired a fascination for the Internet, challenged me to read, introduced me to Harry Potter, Stargate, Battlestar Galactica… So much more.

So there was five. Me. Naomi. Katie. Wilson. Dollie. When I was twelve I made a new friend, Jessica. Dollie died… Was my first experience with death. Next year? Jessica died… Radiation overdose. Time went on. Katie disappeared, her family won’t talk about it.

Teenager now. I secluded myself. I didn’t want friends. I wanted to be alone, it hurt to be alone. But, I wanted it. I read, stuck to myself. Role played on forums. Nothing coped and helped with the great physical and emotional pain I had. I’ve begun having strokes and chest pains. My mother said I was faking… Bad one came. Rushed out of school on an ambulance. Came back next week to find a girl slamming me against a wall twisting my arm furious at me for disappearing and scaring her, and asked me for my number… That’s how I formally met Dawn.

Few good years minus pain. I loved my friends but I was so afraid I would hurt them. Senior year. Naomi died in March… We were two months. TWO months after a decade of friendship to graduating. Naomi dragged an oxygen tank to school with her. It broke me. Hard. This was the hardest death I dealt with in my life. My grandfather died the same year, he was one of the few people in my life I looked up to and would call a great man. Next year I had surgery, sickest I’ve ever been. My “fake” pains apparently were discovered to be real and an issue.

Twenty. I survived the teen years against incredible odds. I lost Dollie, Katie, Jessica, and Naomi. The original five… I lived. I was supposed to die before them. Young twenties, weak, getting older, no job because of health care issues. Heck… I even stalked Automattic’s jobs pages, but I’m nowhere near as talented enough to work for them or anyone. Other places I liked cost far too much to live there, and I have no support network besides in an area with air so bad that only China rivals us. I just have a lot of medical baggage. Wilson died recently. My friend Dawn hates me because her boyfriend thinks I’m a threat. I have no intention of going after her… This hurts me. But in December 2009, I met an awesome person by chance online named Kate.

To make matters worse… Naomi’s mom called today. Just moments ago. And last week. This hurts. I hate my memory. But, now I’m reminded. I have no real life friends left. The only people I could call friends are Kate… List stops there. Kate called me a great friend. I don’t think Kate will ever realize how much this means to me. Kate brought Cassie whose blog lights me up when I need it. I do have others I’d like to call friends, but I barely talk to them: Heather, Josh, Destiny, Lily, Kesra and it ends there plus a few more. Not much more or less. There are some new people like Taz, Moni, or Jay that are starting to mean a lot to me. But… I never physically met any of them.

I’m in a dilemma. I want to be remembered and do something great in my life… But, I don’t want my passing to cause pain.

I feel horrible. I feel like curling up in a ball and crying. I suffered too much in my life. My life is dictated by worrying about surgery and my heart. I hate this.


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