(photo: @pgmiziara)
I have lung cancer and Stage 4 Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma
Non-smoker by the way, just lost the lottery, that’s all. Considering the damage found from early on during the initial diagnosis, I am not expected to live for too long. I don’t want to get into details in case some friends recognize this.
I’m roughly 27 years old. I’ve been trying out new things, I have had so much fun with new hobbies, instruments I’ve learned over the last year, and have developed a routine for the gym since high school. I didn’t manage to go into what I wanted, entering college, but I’m happy with the jobs I managed to pick up from connections. I’m very happy with what I’ve done so far.
But the one thing I’ve tried to do, and have failed at, is to find a girl who likes me. I don’t bring up what I have and my outlook, but as of dozens of approaches and some new friendships kindled, there has been no one attracted to me. Apart from my physique, I’m not physically attractive up in the face, to say the least. Been trying different things since high school, nothing has changed as of yet.
I don’t want a hookup, not that I have one so far, or a pity fuck since I don’t want to bring up my cancer as I don’t want it to be the reason or my identity, but honestly this is the one thing that keeps me up at night. I’m still waiting for someone and I likely won’t find this person.
My lungs are starting to deteriorate, I’ve started exhibiting symptoms of where things will start to go downhill from here on out. I’ve seen the specialists and it’s not looking so good. 2019 might be my last year.
I don’t know why I’m writing this. I have lots of friends who love me, parents that I’m blessed to have in my life, and have done things I’m proud of. But something as selfish as wanting someone to love me and be attracted to me, I can’t achieve that.
My parents adopted my siblings and I just so they could rape and molest us.
I’ve never told anyone this before, ever, in my life, except for the legal authorities after it all came out. I guess this is the perfect place to finally do so, for the anonymity.
My parents are pedophiles. I’m not entirely sure how they met; us kids got a story growing up, but I don’t think it’s true, because how big of a coincidence is it that two people with the same awful and taboo fetish hooked up? They were always active as swingers, apparently, so maybe they met in the fetish world. They decided to adopt kids together to sexually abuse, because it wouldn’t be as messed up considering we weren’t biologically their children. (I’m not saying that. That was their logic.) They adopted my sister and I when I was 2 and she was a baby first, we had the same crack addicted bio mom who lost both of us to the state. When I was 4 and 7 they adopted my two brothers, and when I was 10 they adopted my youngest sister.
I know all of this because when I was 19 my dad bragged about all of this to the other couple they were swinging with, who I guess seemed like they were pedophiles as well. They weren’t, and turned my parents in to the police. They are both in prison for life.
I don’t want to get into the gory details of everything, except that by the time I was ten I had lost my virginity to my dad and had basically done every sex act under the sun. I thought it was completely normal, and what all little girls did with their fathers. I was a daddy’s girl through and through. My father molested my sisters as well, and my mother molested my brothers; everything was hetero. Looking back we were the stereotypically abused kids in school, way too knowledgeable about sex/sexually forward for our ages, and my brothers both got in trouble for playing with their own poop. My parents were never suspected, however, because of our traumatic beginnings as the kids of drug addicts.
By the time I was a teenager my dad pretty much lost interest in me because I was too grown up and was instead molesting my youngest sister. I basically had free reign to do whatever I wanted from the time I was 12. I became hugely promiscuous with older boys at school, which ended with me getting pregnant at 15. The father was my first boyfriend who wasn’t one of the scummy guys at school, and his family had shown me that my home life was hugely abnormal. I worried that if my baby was a girl it would be molested by my dad (at the time, I didn’t know my mom was abusing my brothers as well) and asked if I could move in with my boyfriend’s family. I used the story that my parents were angry about my pregnancy and kicking me out. As for my parents, they didn’t care much about me at that point and I suppose they guessed correctly that abusing their grandchild would not work as well since it was also attached to this very loving and functional family. They let me go.
In a way getting pregnant and moving out so young saved me. All of my younger siblings struggle with drug addiction in some shape or form, be it heroin, meth, alcohol, or multiple substances. One of my brothers shows sociopathic tendencies likely due to the abuse. My youngest sister has been diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. After my parents were arrested, they all went back into the foster care system, which did not help at all. I am 26 today and while I still have a lot of problems with depression and suicidal thoughts I feel like having my son to live for is the only way I have avoided being addicted to drugs. He is 11 now and a great kid.
The worst thing for me wasn’t the abuse, shockingly. I grew up with it and never felt victimized during it, though I would never EVER do what my mom did to my son. It was the fact that during their trial it came out that my parents never thought of us as their “real” kids. We were just adopted kids that they took in to use as their playthings. All the love they showed us was just for show. I think that is what will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I’m HIV positive
Earlier this year I had a relationship with a guy I mistakenly trusted. I don’t want to get into it because it upsets me a lot, but the short and short of it is, he told me he was clean, he was actually HIV positive, and now I am too because I felt safe enough not to use a condom with him during our relationship together.
I found out because I got what I thought was the flu, but it hit me so, so hard. I went to the ER twice. The first time they gave me fluids and some meds for my massive headache and sent me home. The second time I had a fever of 103 and they didn’t have any beds and wouldn’t for hours so I said fuck it and decided I’d rather die/go braindead in the comfort of my own bed. Two and a half weeks later I was still having fevers over 101 and couldn’t get out of bed except to pee. A rash like chicken pox that didn’t itch covered my entire body including my palms and my liver enzymes went off the chart. A month later after more tests and head scratching by a team of doctors, they finally diagnosed me with syphillis (stage 3) and HIV.
I took it in stride and went to therapy, took my new meds, and now my viral load is undetectable. My CD4 levels are normal (that means my immune system is working normally). Honestly the treatment for the syphillis was the worst. Three rounds of huge shots of penicillin in my butt, one in each ass cheek each time. I would be so sore it would be hard to drive out of the parking lot.
Life is pretty much the same, all except for I can’t donate blood anymore and I had to unregister from the bone marrow registry. Also I avoid this man like it’s my job. I don’t shop at the grocery store he works at. I don’t go to the park he lives near. I do a double take every time I see an older guy dressed in black on a bike now. I tried reporting him to the police but there’s nothing they could do for me because my governor changed the laws recently to reduce prison crowding.
Few people close to me know I’m positive. I haven’t even told my dad even though he asked me point blank when I was really sick and I just lied even though he’s a doctor himself and would love me all the same. I just don’t want him to worry, or to have to be burdened with knowing someone hurt me giving it to me, or if I leave that part of the story out for him to think I was reckless with my own health. But not telling him weighs on me too.
When they first told me that I had cancer I thought that I would make it.
I did make it for a while. Things went alright and I went into remission when I was 18.
Things looked good and I started college as a film student in a 4 year University but by the age of 21 it came back and had was progressing rapidly. I ended up quitting school because It didn’t seem like it was worth planning for a future that I wouldn’t have.
I’m 22 now and recently was given an estimate of 4-6 months. I’ve been trying to stay strong for my family, but I’m so fucking scared.
I’ll be 23 years old when I die. There were so many things that I wanted to do that I’ll never get the chance to do.
I feel like I should be trying to find some rhyme or reason, or rationalizing some sort of after life or a god, but I just want to stay in my room and play videogames.
I love my family but I am tired of being around them, I see that they are trying to stay strong but I feel like I have to comfort them. They are also extremely religious and have tried to use this to make me a believer.
I don’t want to comfort people, or explain what I feel to people who won’t get it, or be fucking preached to.
I pre-ordered Red Dead Redemption two and my current goal is to stay healthy enough to beat it. That’s the one good thing about dying, I don’t have to save my money or worry about my future. It my sound selfish but at this point I’m just trying to play as many videogames as possible and try not to think about any of it.
Times like this are rough though, it’s 5 in the morning and I’m too tired to do anything. So I have a lot of thoughts popping up in my mind that I want to avoid.
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