Pt 4

That Christmas was rough. We'd just gotten into a house. We didn't really get presents. My siblings were upset. I didn't care.
I made a New Years resolution. I wasn't going to get hurt that year. No injuries. I lasted nine days.
I volunteered to help a church. They had furniture that needed moved in their thrift store. I was carrying a pedestal and I tripped on a weather rug. I fell on top of the pedestal. On top of my hand. It exploded two of my fingers. Broke everything else in the hand and wrist.
The funny part of this is that I crushed my left hand. I am and always have been left-handed. I'm a lucky guy. They prescribed me heavy painkillers and muscle relaxers.
I got to school and sold most of them. I made a lot of money off of it. This was sophomore year of high school. I was a student leader at my church.
I'm still ashamed of this.
A week later and I had my surgery to put my hand together. All the while up to the surgery I was asked if I was sure I was left-handed. They planned on amputating the two fingers that were the worst. They were my middle and index finger.
I held fast. I am left-handed.
After the surgery, I slept. I had a huge bandage on my hand. I had no idea what my hand looked like. I was terrified. I just know it hurt. And bad. I snapped a leg in half without a tear. Walked on it for a day, again, with no tears. Physical pain never really bothered me. Boxing and wrestling make you tough. But this hurt.
When they took off the bandage, I cried. They shortened all of my fingers. The two that were the worst looked disgusting. It was hard.
Therapy was grueling. I hated every second of it. I pulled every stitch. The therapist never touched my hand after the first time. She jabbed a q-tip into the open end of my middle finger. Not the best sensation. So I did everything. I pulled stitches. I cleaned the fingers. She just watched. I guess I'm stubborn.
I don't guess. I am stubborn. I still refused to take the pills. I liked them too much. And needed money.
I didn't let the fingers heal before I started lifting weights again. I started wrestling again. I didn't box, because those fingers didn't like bending much.
My hand now has bad arthritis. And I only just recently regained feeling in two of my fingers. Took three years to fix that. After the end of school that year, we moved to Illinois again. We stayed at my grandmother's house. In a tent. Six people. She didn't have room inside in her 4 bedroom house to fit all of us. So she bought a $300 tent instead of helping us get in a house.
I started becoming more and more bitter. We finally made it into a house. School started.
I was alone again. No friends, except people who remembered me negatively.
I wrestled. I hated my classes. I rarely ate lunch because I had no money. Or lunch card. I also broke up with my girlfriend in that time. A week before our two year anniversary. I couldn't keep it going.
I hated myself for it. I completely broke ties with her.
I still regret that. She had kept me alive and sane more nights than she'll ever know. I still love her a bit. I miss talking to her. maybe someday.
At school, I wasn't eating. At home, I wasn't eating. I lost 40 pounds. I started cutting again. And wishing I had painkillers. I was down. Bad bad. Until one day at lunch.
I'll continue tomorrow.
Thanks.
Tyler.