Come Sit With Me

July 11, 2012

I want to tell you a story. I want to tell you my story. I want to tell you why I need your help, as my readers and followers and fellow writers, to piece my life together. I want to tell you the story of why I haven’t written in a while and why my writing is spotty (and why it seems like my capabilities as a writer seem to fluctuate rather wildly). I want to tell you a story about why almost none of the work here is edited and why I disappear every night until the following afternoon on the social networks many of you connect with me on. I want to tell you a story of suffering, of persistence, and of survival.

This is the story of my life, my disability, and my struggle. And this is the beginning of your story where you do something small to save someone and keep an artist in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am 26 years old now. I hit this ripe old age on the fourth of June this year. In this time, I’ve been to two group homes, a handful of foster homes, a mental institution, and a wide variety of family homes. I’ve seen my parents get divorced, I’ve been at my dad’s remarriage, and I’ve watched my dad’s parents die while my mom’s parents slowly fall apart. I’ve watched family  members struggle with drug addiction, strife within our family, and physical abuse. I’ve survived physical abuse. I’ve listened to and supported friends and family through physical, sexual, emotional, and mental abuse. I’ve been an unpaid therapist since first being released from an institution and I have worked as hard as I can to support my friends when they needed it, to give them money when they needed it, to feed them when they needed it, and to drive them around when they needed it. I have spent nearly my entire life sacrificing for others and pushing myself to stay employed, stay above water, and to keep everyone comfortable. I went to a tech school to support me and my girlfriend at the time. I got a job I hated to support us, even after she broke up with me. I kept my job to support my friends, and when I lost that one I got another to try to support myself and, eventually, my friends and family again. Then I lost that job. I found out that I’ve got a physical deformity from a neurological disability. My joints are malformed and cause me constant pain. They also cause me to experience muscular fits and seizures on an irregular basis. I can’t drive anymore, I can’t work anymore, and I can barely type for more than ten minutes without feeling wracking pain in my fingers.

And when this happened, there was really only one person there for me – my current girlfriend. My family couldn’t support me or didn’t want to. My friends practically abandoned me, shuffling me into a corner when it wasn’t feasible to help me (and as soon as I was out of sight, completely forgetting about me). I have nothing to fall back on. I have no home to go back to. I have no history of medical issues because of the cost of medical care in this country, and I have no history of psychiatric or neurological disability because of the same.

This is where my story starts to involve you, my readers. I need your help. I need you to do what I cannot. I need you to talk to other people, to encourage my support, to be my voice in places I cannot reach. I need you to speak for me, with me, and to be my advocates. I cannot support myself on what I have infront of me right now, and while I have started the process for disability support it will take a while for it to go anywhere and it still will not be enough to cover my expenses. In order for me to house and feed myself, in order for me to be at all close to comfortable, I need your help. Financially, emotionally, mentally, and strategically.

Most of all, I need your help to reach new people. I need you to share my posts, to reflect my message, and to tell others to read what I write. I need you to post links to my blog at the places you frequent and tell your friends and followers about why you read what I write. I need you to tell others to come listen to me, to talk to me, and to engage with me. And, if they think I’m worthy, to support me.

It doesn’t need to be much. A small amount from enough people will help me pay my bills, feed myself, and keep working. Hopefully, in enough time I’ll also make money from selling my books as ebooks, once they’re done and I have covers for them. For now, though, I need your help to make it that far.

Please, consider helping me. More than anything I’m tired of just finding ways to survive and it’s becoming a strain on the emotions of everyone that knows me. No one person can help me enough to save me (unless it’s Bill Gates or Warren Buffet, but I sincerely doubt either of them are going to come across my blog). But all of us together can put me in a safer, healthier place. But I need your help. Without it, I won’t survive.

If you want to donate to me, you can here. Sharing buttons are available at the bottom of every post.

You can always find me on Facebook and G+ as well, or on Twitter as @Luarien.

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