Quote


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“I was going to die, sooner or later, whether or not I had even spoken myself. My silences had not protected me. Your silences will not protect you…. What are the words you do not yet have? What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? We have been socialized to respect fear more than our own need for language. Next time, ask: What’s the worst that will happen? Then push yourself a little further than you dare. Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it’s personal. And the world won’t end. And the speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never have realized you had. And you will lose some friends and lovers, and realize you don’t miss them. And new ones will find you and cherish you. And you will still flirt and paint your nails, dress up and party, because, as I think Emma Goldman said, “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.” And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.”

– Audre Lorde

Bird


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This bird has outgrown many things in the past months from dying love, to cold friends and to the importance of new love and family. She’s even outdone her physical therapy vicinity and the assistance of their aids. There are always new things to learn, but the most crucial for birdie has been to take charge of her therapy (as she knew right from the beginning). Never allow others to dictate your weakness, strength or levels of success. You must always hold yourself accountable; for this is where the profound and strength of character lives.

The past two weeks birdie had been working with a new PT. She calls bird ma’am, yet thinks birdie is in her twenties rather than thirties. The unfortunate issue — is this new vibrant young lady came a little too late. Birdie both likes and appreciates her techniques and her promising nature. Birdie can sense the love this young flower has for her Physical Therapy work — and how it comes with new eyes, a thirst for knowledge, a keen ear, unstained years of senorioty rights and a clear vision of great passion.

What’s more unfortunate is this birdie is almost gone and is going to leave the Physical Therapy nest behind. She had a long run (4 months), and she didn’t agree with everything, and in some cases they actually hindered her (by overworking her and allowing her to sustain tendonitis in her foot). Still, birdie benefited in multiple ways like overcoming mental blocks and flying and getting out of the house. This birdie is going back home, to the religion, to the glitz, to the empowerment, to the intimacy and love of the gym because there’s more equipment that can be used to improvise.

Birdie can get to where she needs to be quicker (although patience is still the key as she’s no where near 100%) — for in winter, there are only so many ways one can handle the force knocking of the wind and friendly snow that turns to dangerous ice; not to mention the horrid rain outside. However, by the time spring comes; this little birdie will put all her hopes on the comfort of blue skies, delicate breeze and warm sunshine. :)

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-Pennington

Refurbish


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My voice is coming back.
I figured, I ironed my hair flat
Get on a straight groove
Create great moves.
Fuck the past!
There’s nothing there,
So, don’t ask.
My brother disappeared
To somewhere in Long Island
On autopilot
With a fat neurotic wife
Who handed my brother to her psychiatrist
Off like a diamond
Of over thirty years to see
Nothing that wasn’t there.
Now, he’s abandoned
The only family affair
He’s ever had in thin air.
People should be placed under suspicion
Because life is stranger than fiction.
My mother died,
A few months ago
And it was an unpleasant surprise.
All the memories
That mattered
Did not
Because subplots rot
And you never thought
The ending was euphoric
Or that the present could be historic
In all the future
Things you will ever do
Or never not put in review.
I’m no longer scared of anything.
I experience all the good and bad
And come out tougher
And freer living on
Life’s golden wings.

-Pennington

I Hate This Dog!


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Growing up I’ve never been without a pet. Thanks to my mom. Having pets was just as important as breathing because my mother always said, “Animals love unconditionally, unlike people.” My mom always wanted to be a veterinarian and for me — she was at heart. She was also a hardcore pet rescuer; to the point of hoarding.

In my life, there were always adventures with all types of pets from gerbils (which I named after watching Rocky — Rocky Balboa and Adrienne because my gerbils were a couple) to having albino-like ferrets to a shrine of hamsters, hyper rabbits, smelly turtles, colorful birds and all types of dogs and cats. My life has always been about pets in some form or another — I love animals. And also, still to this day, one of the most traumatic experiences of my life was putting my sick cat to sleep, for which I still shed tears. I miss her dearly, and I considered her my daughter (though I have zero kids).

I like to believe that because I grew up with so many types of animals my observations from animals relates heavily to human behavior, and my observations are better than most people. I also believe in being able to love intensely because of loving pets and finding them to be as important as the kids on the Pokémon cartoons did. The truth is, I’m an animal lover, and I’m more of an animal lover than I am a human lover. However, can I say that every pet and animal I’ve ever came into contact with (or will) — I liked or love with all my heart?

Well, no. I’ve only come across a couple of dogs and cats I didn’t like. They take place on one hand (out of an easy hundred or more) thankfully, but since staying with my friend — there’s a new form of dislike I never knew I could have for a dog. I actually keep some updates on my Twitter feed, usually with photos about this dog I dislike. I’ve become a bit obsessed, but I feel it’s because I’ve never in my life met a horrible dog like this.

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What kind of breed is this dog? I don’t  know? The breed of annoyance, of greed, of reincarnation but as a human-dog. She’s a hyper bitch, jumps everywhere like she’s in a circus, has ADD, is stubborn, defiant, can’t stay at one place too long, has insomnia and barely sleeps at night and genuinely doesn’t care if others sleep either.

She has straw-like fur in the color of hay. And her personality for a dog is practically horrible, in my opinion because she’s nothing like a dog — nothing common at least. For example, most dogs lick people as a sign of affection of sort. She never ever licks, but will try to tongue kiss your mouth if you allow it and it’s only because of the human food a person just ate.

In the beginning, I remember meeting the dog and wanting to be friendly with her because I really like animals, and as usual I give everything and everyone the benefit of doubt. I would pet the dog, talk to it in my nice customer service tone and sporadically feed it human food by hand. One of the first times I fed her by hand she fucking bit me hard enough in the process as if she were a fucking piranha.

It wasn’t until my friend came up with the rule of not feeding her human food did I notice a shift in her affections and attention towards me. It was all fake. She stopped coming to me entirely and when she went by me I swore I heard her snob-ass scoff as if I didn’t matter in the first place. The people who did matter were the ones disobeying the rule — the two teenagers. So, it was interesting to see a dog act so much like a human and with human emotions unlike a dog. She used me, and I never fed her human food again.

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I hate this dog, not because she’s fake, but because she’s not loyal to a family house. If a stranger was to feed her food, she wouldn’t care and would chomp down on human flavors, protein and fat — while these strangers would slash our throats to the city of the whole family.

I hate this dog because she belongs to the 15 year old who lives in the house and whenever it’s time to sleep with the girl, the dog decides she can’t stay  locked in and sleep with her because she goes crazy every time she hears a fork scrape against a plate outside in the kitchen. The dog always proves her disloyalty. The dog will bark excessively until the dad takes the dog out of the room. Only then, does this dog stop barking and proceeds to go make her dog rounds to each room of the house as quickly as possible to see if anyone dropped food on the floor.

I hate this dog because I’ve never seen a dog so horny for human food. She creeps in corners, in rooms, hides under chairs, performs the downward dog, while peering from under the table and stalking every single person for human food in the house. I’ve never seen anything like it. One time someone placed their plate of food on the bed and when they came back to the room she was on the bed feasting from it like it was hers when she knows where her two bowls are — outside of the kitchen.

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Another time, someone held a nice 6oz steak in their hands and for one second they put their hand down while walking out the room just when this dog jumped to try and snatch the steak out their hands. Mind you, she actually gripped it with her teeth, and we all agree to throw out a perfectly good steak because feeding her human food would reinforce bad behaviors. This was around the time when we found out that the 15 yr old was constantly feeding the dog by hand where it’s now to the point that the dog looks malnourished because it waits for the tiny bit of hand out it gets from the girl and leaves her dog food in the bowl entirely for days.

I wonder if this dog would be different if my friend wasn’t her fifth owner? Perhaps? I wish I could’ve observed her from all the previous houses to be able to study her and learn how her behavior has changed with every one of those homes. But, let’s get back to why I hate this dog. Whenever someone cooks in the kitchen, she’ll remain within distance, in case any food falls on the floor and she actually goes as far as not eating her dog food until everyone stops cooking and eats their foods in case anything falls.

I hate this dog because morning, noon and night she’s always searching for human food. If she’s inside the room with the door closed, she barks to be let out only when she hears utensils because she knows someone is cooking in the kitchen. Did I mention — she’s so horny for human food that she starves herself? Her last record was 3 days. She starved for 3 days, not once touching her dog food. She’s now beaten her last record with 6 days of starving herself. Now, before anyone jumps into the conclusion of maybe she doesn’t like her dog food and you have to switch it..

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I took the liberty of finding a dog food she actually likes. (I’ve pretty much taken ownership and am the one that influences the house on the matters of the dog. She’s my new experimentation.) She likes the dog food called Gravy Train — the one where you can just add water, stir, and it makes gravy. She used to twirl in happy circles for the food in the beginning. Now she doesn’t. This only lasted for roughly 3 weeks before she went back to desiring the fuck out of human food. And what bothers me about this is there are animals and house pets in the world who are starving and freezing in the street who would love to eat food — and here we are feeding an ungrateful fucking dog who doesn’t care if we ever feed her dog food, just human food.

I have conditioned the dog to stop staring and stalking humans for food. I went from using multiple water bottles (because I rather use water than actually abuse her physically because I don’t like animal abusers — plus this dog is stubborn as fuck for an attempt on verbal and tone shit) until she became immune to water. Then every time she barked because she wanted to come out of the room or wanted to be disobedient and watch people eat — I locked her and made sure everyone else locks her in the bathroom until now she makes not a sound and not a stare for food.

To be honest, who wouldn’t be a fucking bitch or an assbole if they’re constantly starving themselves? And who wouldn’t beg and stare hoping for the easiest target in the house to break and give a hand out? And wouldn’t you do anything it takes to get your greedy mouth on human food? Hm, and how about like acting? Because this dog acts and she only acts out with the 15 yr old girl. What the dog does is she shivers uncontrollably as if she’s been placed in the freezer and then she sits right in front of the 15 yr old or right by the side of her until the girl breaks down and gives her a tiny particle of food.

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The first time I saw this dog shiver — as you might’ve imagine I was shocked because I knew she was acting; the house is cozy and warm, there’s no way she was fucking cold. And of course, she didn’t start shivering until she got near the dish of the 15 yr old girls food. Then I told everyone in the room, I can’t believe she’s acting — and is so horny for food — and when I said that, the dog looked at me with a disgrace of a face as if I blew up its spot (because I believe she knows English) and the bitch decided to stop shivering right then and there. The dog knows the words: Come here, Get out, Stay, Sit, Please leave and food. There are many other examples I can write, but God did I write a lot as is.

Patience and consistency is key and I have both at this very moment. Still we haven’t cured her of eating her dog food religiously. She rather starve — and in few cases, rather than eat her dog food, she begs the 15 yr old owner to get a piece of cake, fried chicken or buttered rolls, even after she’s eaten a big meal. And I only need to get the 15 yr old girl to fully get on the bandwagon of not feeding this ungrateful dog any human food ever again. The truth is, I don’t know if this dog will ever want to eat her dog food again even if the 15 yr old stops feeding her because this dog is fucking damaged.

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There are many things I can say about this dog like how she portions out her dog food, how she’s stubborn and in the beginning when we punished her she would act out in defiance by taking a shit on the couch, in a specific room and vomits on people’s beds intentionally. But  I’ve said more than enough about this hobo dog. Everything is experimentation, condition and progress in this world, and as long as one stays consistent on a matter, one can change whatever it is you truly desire. Fortunately, this includes this dog I hate. Maybe. Wish me luck.

P.S.

If anyone has any suggestions on this human dog and how to tame it further without physical abuse, I’m all ears. Thanks for reading. ;-)

-Pennington

There Are Good Days and Bad Days


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I’m floating in and out of sadness. Every once in a while it catches up to me like a bad childhood memory. I try to face it at times. I also try and run away. But mostly I remain on auto-pilot. I envision myself just like the cat that has a balloon wrapped around the midline of its body — floating into the same sky I did mere months ago. I’m physically, mentally and spiritually exhausted. I’m spent in ways I didn’t know I could be.

I go a few steps forward and everything seems okay in the world again. I enjoy daylight and saying yes to people who ask for small favors. I try and walk unassisted for blocks even though the pain is massive and my limp is unattractive. And on the good days, I take to doing light cleaning in the house where my lower back flares and tries to fight me to the point of my giving up. I won’t give in. I love telling my body what to do with my mind.

After seeing my surgeon and the physician’s assistant, they both came to the conclusion that my ongoing pain has been due to the aggression of PT. They gave me an aircast brace for stability purposes and to hopefully decrease the pain. Then they told me if in 4 weeks there’s still pain we’ll take some x-rays. And I’m just wondering how long man? How long? I know I heard the doctors say it can take up to a year in order for your body to feel back to normal. But I was working hard day in and day out in hopes I wouldn’t be in that statistic.

I’ve been sucking it up. I’ve adjusted overnight. So, can I get a little something back that isn’t comfort food or Netflix or reading or writing or short evening walks to try and improve my gait? Where is my additional luck? Has it gone in hiding? And, yes, this is my bitching because on bad days this is how I feel: I’ve been devoted to myself since day one of this accident. I’ve done everything I was supposed to and continue to do now. My darker days I owe to my menstrual cycle and I hover over negatives as if it’s about to go out of style.

Wish me well.

I feel
like
I’m
dying
again.

-Pennington

Sadomasochist PT!


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The owner of the Physical Therapy place has an over-the-top Phillipine accent, a fabricated smile, along with the body of Dr. Robotnik. She oversees everything, including my chart. And although she’s the boss of everyone and everything in the place — I fucking dislike her with a fucking passion! My day is much better when I don’t see her at all when I’m at PT (and I go 3 times a week). I mean, when she doesn’t breathe next to me, when she doesn’t say hi to me or stand 10 feet away from me — my day is simply better.

My first (and current) impression of this PT woman is she’s truly cruel. I could tell by the first evaluation; how she grabbed my lifeless foot of two months and twisted it in ways where my natural instinct was to contort my face with emotions and invisible curse words. What upset me the most about her giving me pain like this was not once did she think to mention sorry or even warn me beforehand of her vicious nature.

Let me say for the record, I’m not a stranger to PT. I’m a weightlifter for Christ sake with a fairly decent ego that makes it easy for me to acquire injury as if it’s a mark of a champion. And what I’m about to explain is all a true story. None of this is made up for amusement, but for me to remember the chapters of my life.

Side note: I have this theory, where, sometimes I believe that if a person has been in their occupation for far too long that their behavior and actions and such start to become the occupation as oppose to them being the occupation — whether good or bad. Like for instance,  stockbrokers are evil. Do you think it’s really a coincidence? Mmkay.

So anyway, for the most part I tend to work with the male PT who I love, but his boss is the fat cruel bitch and owner of the place. Cruel fat lady has a tendency to come by — I presume — when she has no other paperwork to do and when she wants to critique and hear her own voice to get off — while other times she observes my PT session (with my male PT) I believe, just to taunt me by saying, “Do the exercise without holding onto the bars. Or can you do like this (gets on an easy wobble board with straight posture while dancing on it).”

Times like this, I want nothing more but to poke her eyes out with my hands as I think to myself: I can certainly get on the easier wobble board and pretend to dance on it and laugh like you do if only I could put 100% bodyweight on my right ankle that was broken a mere weeks before while not having my other muscles compensate by trying to stand with a marine perfect posture if I wasn’t in so much fucking pain already. But, let’s face it, only one of us is in pain and lives a pretty more normal life with two feet healthy and walking on the ground.

So, is there a wonder why I think she’s such a HUGE cuntbag? She enjoys taking jabs at people when they’re in pain and one lady who also gets PT and was on the bike when she overheard the fat lady owner say, “Can you do this and dance?” to me, she took it upon herself to say to fat lady: “It’s easy to say those things when you’re not the one in pain.” Then a moment of awkward silence fell on all of us and everyone else in the PT office.

I want to stab this fat lady in her glittery hazel eyes, not only because she reminds me of one of my cruel unforgiving married-in aunts, but because nothing I ever do is enough for her (not that she matters) and because my pain is never painful enough for her (although often enough, the pain is unbearable and I make it look easy). She never has anything positive to say and maybe this is another part of her monstrous personality?

Here’s what I gathered so far from this vicious bitch. When she sees me down in the dumps with pain and I’m taking a time out slouched on the chair resting for a moment she comes on over and asks me, “How are you? Are you in a lot of pain?” I say yes sometimes and crack a sneer. And when I say yes, she laughs like a wicked witch and walks off stage like a director just screamed cut!

Another time: I had to work with her one day when she massaged and jerked my foot off in a very hard and fast fashion, she managed like usual to hurt me during the process. After that abuse, she had me do lots of new exercises for my foot/ankle and she made me perform them up until I let out a large breath that sounded like I sucked heavily through a straw of pain because my calve was about to give me a fat cuntbag Charlie horse. She did this 3 different times and each time I could tell she enjoyed looking into my face to see what reaction I was willing to give.

Another time: She came by to check my progress and I did my ankle exercises while she placed manual resistance (her hand on me and placing resistance down so I can fight/flex against it for those who aren’t aware of what MR means), then decides to flex my foot upwards to the ceiling past the 90 degree mark (which now I can do), but went past the muscle and stiffness resistance until 2 cracks let loose from somewhere in the middle and back of my foot. Thank god it didn’t hurt, but I don’t understand why she would do this? Or why didn’t she apologize for cracking my foot? Or warn me that a crack could happen?

There’s also another young PT woman who aids me at times when my Male PT is helping others in need of something, and I call her Numbnut because she’s very gullible. When she comes to assist me she thinks it’s girl chatty time and never counts my reps while she speaks up a storm. She asks me so many questions that I start to make up stories for my amusement and to get through the pain.

Because she’s learn from the fat lady cunt which is to be aggressive to the point where my body goes to panic mode, where it wants to flee and it goes to fight mode and I get the hulk urge triggered beyond a pain threshold I can’t handle (but must!), where I want to beat Numbnut onto the parallel bars til she feels what I feel and more. Just like fat lady, Numbnut has no remorse and shares no empathy for other people’s pain, even though she’s clearly the one giving it and could choose to give less says the flood in my eyes to which I hold back.

Aside from these two psychotic bitches, the male PT I work with has been very good to me. Since day one he has been very nice to me. Lately, he’s been very happy with my progress. Probably because he’s aware of how much I work on my own at home and because I progress quickly. During each session, he says, “Sorry” numerous times and says, “I’m sorry I have to put you in pain, I hope you understand.” And not once has he taunt me in any way or has given me extra exercise work to do or has ever said, “Do anke pumps all day in your house.” Because I’m always in pain, so how far will I get with pumping my ankle all fucking day?

To end this, I know some of you may think I sound crazy. But I can assure you I’m very good at reading people and even better with reading human behavior. I’m pretty sure you’re asking: What do you mean the owner of the PT place would want to hurt you? What would they gain out of it? Well, sit down and read this post again. Two out of three people I work with are aggressive and sadistic. They push me over the pain limit. How come one doesn’t? Numbnut doesn’t come off as if she does it because she gets off on it, but fat lady DOES get off on it. My gut tells me Numbnut gives so much pain because she wants the patient to get back to normal as soon as possible.

Still, I know what my intuition tells me and I know it never fails me. I know how sick this world is and how much sicker the people who live in this world are. Fat cunt lady has become her occupation, someone who gives pain and willingly gives pain with a willingness like no other while the patient has to deal with it in order to recover. It’s not a wonder why fat lady says, “You’re so nice.” It’s because she’s had numerous people curse her out already. I’m just trying to take the high road. But for how long?

Listen, this is fat lady’s sick fantasy, where one can view it as a sick love fetish story.

-Pennington

Pacify


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I’m so comfortable.
I want to give myself away
To you. I want to take
My clothes off and my skin
And give myself away.
You have an allure
That sets me free.
You have a power
That makes me want to
Drop my hands at my side.
And even if I could
Explain it — I can’t.
It’s like something unforgettable
In childhood. Or something
Joyful when one gapeseeds nature.
It’s like when you take
An apple and cut it into
Slices and offer me to eat
It with all the love in
The world. It’s you, it’s
How you give yourself to me
That allows me to give
Myself away to you.

– Pennington

Pain Therapy


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I’m slow just like an elderly person crossing the street, like any home turtle in the fish tank and basically similar to a suicidal giving up on life. Except, I enter the physical therapy office with an open mind and clear objective — to make gains, to obtain lasting results, to prosper and to walk on two feet correctly (again). I have a lot of work ahead of me, but that’s okay because I like work — and because what is life without work? Or sweat? Or tears? Or blood? Or pain?

And speaking of pain: I’m pretty aware that if they called it Pain Therapy rather than Physical Therapy — the majority of people wouldn’t show up. Related: This has been the most painful PT session (the 6th one so far) yet. I inhale and exhale like a pregnant woman giving birth wildly, but, with control. I shut my eyes tighter than my thermal water bottle, pinch my eyebrows together as in “what the fuck?”, grind my teeth with grit, mush my lips together in grumble and sometimes (whenever possible) I hunch my shoulders like a white collar man over a desktop — all because of pain.

Somewhere buried in my bones and muscles fibers, I’m frightened and I’m nervous about every PT session as if I’m starting a new job. But the fear remains in a way where I’m completely detached from it at the same time. I have a reason to be a scaredy-cat for each session there are unpredictable exercises given and new progressions occurring and of course — new pain to match. Today they measured my plantarflexion/dorsi and such and such with a Rulangemeter and a Goniometer. Trust, when I say it hurts when they hold my foot and bring it up to the measurement of where it’s supposed to be.

There are parallel bars where I’m to try and learn to walk again with as much equal body weight as possible without completely noticing the occasional shout from the aid saying: Bend your knee, don’t lock out. Control the movement. Then there are leg/tibia exercises and knee/hip/glute exercises all standing and putting full weight on my right foot and ankle. It feels highly uncomfortable like I’m stepping on stones, but I’m not afraid because I have to do what I have to do, and in a weird way I like pain. Plus, let’s face it, pain is temporary.

Then there’s my favorite, the thing that scares half my training wits — the wooden balance board. This one, I perform numerous exercises on. I dislike every one of them. Still, the bright side is it gets my knees to bend and it stretches everything out around the sides, front and back of my ankle along with my deflated calve. The only issue is, the pain is dangerously wicked, but with my training mentality, I’ve achieved my personal records already.

Then there’s me having to go up/down a step. There’s the prostep-prostretch where I squeeze my foot into it and have to move my foot up and down for a deep fucking stretch! Of course, there are ankle weights and more exercises and equipment I get to play and hurt myself with. Then more ankle exercises with manual resistance by my physical therapist (who I have a fondness for ah! — plus he genuinely says sorry when he senses the pain is unbearable on my face) and ankle circles and ankle pumps before I get my relaxing massage, electrode stimulations, heat and ice.

After all the drama calms down in the PT session, I digest all that has happened and how far I’ve come. I wish I could linger on those digestions. But I move on and take in how much longer I have to go. I dwell and dwell. Still, I’m thankful for my persistence, determination, stubbornness and self-made ego. I also enjoy when the pain and inflammation dies down, even though I know I’m going home to do even more exercises and be in pain all over again.

But more than anything, when I lie in the dark alone with thoughts to myself in the physical treatment room with towels wrapped around my leg in ice and heat — happiness seems to hide in the background and no matter how many times I push the thought out, it resurfaces again. I always go back to square one with: I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m going through this. I can’t seem to shake off this shock.

-Pennington

Traumatized


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I’m traumatized.
I see young boys sporting fun, blazing on skateboards.
I look down sporting misery on a broken ankle replaying the record.
Has it not happened to them yet?
Is there a thought about breaking a fall or a near journey to regret?
About a plate and a surgeon drilling screws?
And how the cold will come on certain days and remain stuck in the hardware? Knowing this, would they have pursued?
I’m traumatized.
This was my freak of nature, a happy accident.
I listen as the longboard wheels taunt me on the street as if money was well spent.
I watch every skater tumble down in my head
Without control — I feel their bone shift from a hidden force warning red.
I can hear the break like a lonely branch being stepped on.
I feel the lost of life due to a split second – and months of a thousand recovery songs.
I’m traumatized.
But I want to believe I’m fine.
I’m not a snowboarder.
And I didn’t attempt a 50-50 grind like some type of adrenaline junkie explorer.
Now I can’t wait, yet I’m waiting.
I put 70% of killer pain on my foot for 5 minutes straight – devastatingly.
Two months and the physical therapists have me in a sneaker – functional training!
And is it crazy?
How all the sad parts and all the bad parts still make these moments breathtaking.

-Pennington