Can someone please be strong for me now?

6 Aug

Sometimes the best way for me to completely express myself is to write it out. But, not in a journal for only me to read, but for the world to get a glimpse of what really goes on in my mind.  So, here I am writing about something very personal to me.  And, since I’m emotional right at this moment, I find it the perfect opportunity to be completely vulnerable and spill my heart out to all my readers.  And, I’m pretty sure my readers will not enjoy reading parts of this, because honestly I don’t like it myself.  But, there’s no failure in honesty.  This is my life…

This is rather difficult for me to write. I’ve stared at my screen for nearly thirty minutes now.  Just glaring at my screen saver of the Pacific Ocean that I took on a trip up the California coast.  (it makes me feel calm) I keep pausing, backspacing, and so on.  I know what I need to say, but I’m hesitant to let my guard down.  So, I sit her with dried tears upon my cheeks and thoughts racing at a thousand miles per hour.  I know that what I have to say is going to bring me a lot of turmoil, but I am ready to face any consequences that may come with my honesty.

Lately I’ve been pondering on my life.  As my teen years are a month shy to being over, I can’t help but to think of what is to come next.  Since my teens have come and gone so quickly, I now realize I didn’t enjoy those years at all.  For most, people my age have fond memories of first date, school dances, parties, hanging out with friends, and so much more.  And while my peers were out having the time of their life, I was sitting at home twiddling my thumbs.  I was never granted the opportunities to date or be invited to parties.  It was difficult for me to make friendships, which meant I had none.  Most of my teens were spent alone.  I don’t often talk about my childhood because I chose to block it out.  I was in and out of the hospital, I was lonely, and I was trying to find my own.  So, as I enter my twenties next month I try harder to search for the answers I so desperately need.

The older I’ve become, the more of a social life I have made because I have put myself out there.  I have put away my insecurities of people judging me and started living life for myself.  There’s no doubt about the fact that I am a busy girl.  I try my hardest to keep occupied so my demons don’t eat me alive.  With staying busy though, I am constantly thinking of what I have to do.  One of my worst flaws is that I am very detailed oriented and it’s hard for me to just go with the flow.  But, I feel at my best when I do what I love.  Whether that be writing, painting, or hanging out with my fiends or family.

Since I was never invited out to parties as a kid, I find myself craving certain experiences I have yet to experience.  Though some don’t agree with my choices, I’ve become a casual (if you even want to call it that) pot smoker.  I know you are either all in to it or not.  And I’ve found myself recently having to face some loved ones that do not quite understand that I enjoy the rare occasions as to when I do smoke.  I am a drinker on occasion and no one ever seemed to mind.  I feel as if pot has a stigma to it.  I’ll admit, my second time smoking, I overindulged and blacked out. I had mixed it with alcohol, which I had no idea I’d wind up like that.  It was terrifying not only to me, but for my friends who had to witness me in that state of mind.  I was unresponsive and viciously ill.  After that moment I internally shut down.  Those who have been reprimanding me for my choice do not understand that I took it as seriously as they.  But, I knew for myself that I have to learn from my mistakes.

I have smoked since then, without alcohol of course.  And I have to say I enjoy it.  The only way I can put this is, it calms me down when I can’t stop thinking.  What can I possibly be thinking about that would make it ok to take a few hits every so often? I think about my parents and how they have sacrificed their life to better mine.  My mom is my full time caregiver.  My dad is the breadwinner.  My stepmom as well cares for me.  They have all put aside their aspirations for me.  I think about my brothers and how I hate how they fear their children could have Muscular Dystrophy too.  I think about my lack of a  romantic life and my sexual desires.  I think about my future and eventually living independently without the help of my parents.  I think about death and how I know I won’t have a long life.  I think about how the world portrays me while keeping that image.  This is what I am constantly thinking about.  So, if someone wants to get on my case about how I drink or smoke every so often, then so be it.  Because some how, through the load I carry on my frail shoulders, I think I’m granted a nice buzz periodically.  True, I went over board once and I am ashamed, but lessons learned.

This may come off selfish, harsh, and bitchy, but I can no longer maintain a smile for those who love me.  I cannot avoid the topic of death because it disturbs some or that I am “morbid” for even wanting to talk about it.  I cannot stay strong for my friends and family.  Because I found that no one is being strong for me.  It seems like the topic of death sends my friends and family the opposite direction.  This is my reality.  So, while I may face certain situations like me blacking out, I feel obligated to apologize for almost killing myself.  But, why am I apologizing?  No one has thought to ask my thought on death.  If I’m scared of it or not.  And this is where I become selfish.  I am not afraid of death.  This thought has occupied my mind more then others.  It scares me that I am not scared.  Why aren’t I scared I wonder?  Is it because I know there’s something more then just you and me on this planet?  There are bigger things out there beyond our reach.  I am not trying to rush death and I don’t anticipate it, but when it does arrive I’ll greet it with open arms.

I’ve died once when I was ten years old.  I had flat lined in the hospital while recovering from surgery.  I saw the light, it does exist.  I can’t tell you if God was waiting for me, but I can tell you it was the most peaceful feeling I have ever felt.  I suppose being disabled, I see things differently.  Death isn’t the worse thing that could happen to me.  In my opinion, being stuck in a body and not being able to do all I’ve hope to do is death.  And, in the last year I’ve noticed my body weakening and I get tired quicker then I would have a few years back.  The thought of me becoming so weak to the point that I couldn’t paint is the ultimate death.  Life isn’t worth living if I cant express myself.  Though I have a bunch of people in my life that I love all with my heart, I would not be myself if I couldn’t do what I love.

I constantly feel like I have to live up to this image that people have painted me to be.  If I am not the bubbly Chloe everyone knows me to be, people tend to freak out and turn it on me.  Can someone please be strong for me now?  I cannot always be the logical one with all the answers.  I can’t always be optimistic.  I can’t always be strong, witty, and inspiring.  And every time someone calls me an inspiration, I feel the pressure even more.  I cannot always be what people want me to be.  I so often hide the depressing emotions that occupy my thoughts because my friends and family constantly remind me that they can’t live without me and I’m the strong one.  I don’t want to always be strong.  But, no one seems to notice that I am vulnerable, shy, lonely (romantically), frustrated, and guilty.  No able bodied person can come down to my level and completely understand my feelings.

I am expected to be strong because that is the role I have played for so many years.  But, I’m done being strong for everyone.  I need to be strong for myself.  I need to live my life as I choose and have the experiences I desire.  Whether that means some agree or not.  I have managed to become successful with my art.  I write poems that speak from my core.  I am a motivational speaker that discusses living life to its fullest.  I am going to start being an inspiration to myself, not to others.  I think I am doing something right in my life if I managed to accomplish so much in my nineteen years of life.   And while this was difficult for me to write, I felt I had to get it out there.  I am the author of my own life.  I will make typos, but I don’t regret them.  Life experiences make a person.  And all mine have made me that much stronger.




2 Aug

We question the meaning, an uneasy definition not found between the empty lines.
You can flip through the withered pages bounded with twine.
Blood has been drained from the curious for the answer of truth.
Drifting through the motions like a lost sleuth.
At times the visions seem clear, unquestionable and sure.
While others are foggy by the harsh storms we often endure.
Nothing is ever as sure as the sun and the moon.
Overtime the uncertainty trains one to grow immune.
Choose not to be defined by the impostures that crawl our paths.
But rather define our own moments, avoiding the wrath.
This unyeilding life we live has been set to our fate.
Sometimes a cluttered mind is unable to translate.
With my view on life, it seems too grand.
Magnified to the extreme, inept to stand.

The Game

31 Jul

Like a small child, I crave what one cannot obtain.
I place my bare hands into the overflowed jar of hearts.
Hearts of all sizes, some broken and mended together from the salted tears.
Rummaging through the thick, till my tender fingertips hit the rough bottom.
Pulling my hand out of the mess, slapped by the realization that no heart is to be called my own.
I attempt to hook a vessel possessing the strongest of muscles.
I’ve heard it said that there’s a soulmate for everyone.
But I question the statement that has been told for centuries.
A lie to ease the loneliness that visits the poor every so often.
Some are filthy rich off the love they feed off of.
While others scrounge for a taste of what brings all to the highest of highs.
Can ones soulmate be stolen by the scoundrels of the selfish world?
Sadly I’ve seen love be beaten and used, while those who would treat it kindly wait on the sidelines.
Unsure if my name will ever reach the lips of one that reciprocates the same.
Curious as to how the egotistical move ahead while my card has sent me back to start.
I’ll keep rolling the dice and playing this flawed game.
I’m bound to land a roll that will win me a heart of gold some day.


28 Jul

The ones who made me and watched me grow.

They will never truly understand, nor will I show.

I have a unsettling premonition.

A vivid scene stuck on repetition.

My taste buds bathe in words I dare to speak.

Interruptions by the downcast truths that leave them weak.

I found this churlish bug that has left its foul scars upon my brain.

Incubating the notions of ‘no tomorrow’ slipping through my thin veins.

Fear not the forces that itch deep within my core.

My imperfections and the limited time are at war.

I do not side with either team.

It doesn’t matter, it seems.

Cause fighting against my fate is a battle already lost.

I’ve felt the pain and I know my cost.

Can’t mutter a syllable or paint a glimpse of my life to you.

Selfish I am, but I need to be heard too.

You hide from the knowledge that is nothing new.

Scared to admit what you know to be true.

There’s always two sides

20 Jul


My disablitity affects me in many ways. Physically, I struggle to do tasks that come easily to others. Emotionally, I struggle against my hopes for the future. But, out of all the years I have dealt with my personal struggles, I never stopped and considered how my older brothers deal with having a disabled younger sister. We never discuss how they have been affected by my disability. I can only imagine how they feel. Helpless? Because I know they want to protect me from all life’s hardships. The last few days I have been thinking about it because the older we get, the stronger our relationship grows. I may have been selfish all these years thinking they haven’t been affected too much by it, but now that I look back, I see that isn’t true at all.

I am the youngest of 4. My oldest brother Jonathan would have been 27 years old this past June. He too had Muscular Dystrophy and passed away at the age of two. My other brothers and I are close in age. Ryan, 24, and Paris, 21, are healthy, strong men. I remember growing up wanting to impress my brothers. And still to this day I find myself trying to make them proud of me. I look up to them and I always appreciated their kind heart towards me. Surprisingly, we never fought as kids. I can’t recall ever having a screaming match or my brothers ever teasing me. I guess you could say we respect one other and we love each other for everything we are. And it could also very well be that our mom would not ever allow us to be bratty kids.

I recall many occasions where Paris would get in fights and protect me from the cruelty I faced in school. I remember when I was 10 years old and Ryan held me till I fell asleep when I got home from the hospital. These are the few of many things I never thanked them for. I can’t imagine the weight they carried as a child dealing with my health issues and emotional journey. And I wonder now, why it has taken me so long to realize that my brothers haven’t had it any easier then I did. They just dealt with the other side of it all.

I have a drawing Paris drew for me when he was probably 6 years old. On the drawing is stick figures of us and above it reads, “Chole. I whisk you culd walk. I love you and prety.” All these years I just thought it was adorable how he spelt the words, but never did I realize that even at a young age my brother wished more for me.

Then the other day our mom read me a snippit of a book Paris had wrote for his 5th grade class. One of the pages was titled “my three heroes are…” Paris’ first hero was our mom. He acknowledged her strength and love she given to raise her kids. He talked about how much he loves her and is thankful for everything she sacrificed. His second hero was our deceased brother Jonathan, that both Paris and I never got the chance to meet. Paris said he knew Jonathan must have been strong and he wished he could have met him and hugged him instead of ony looking at pictures. And his third hero was me. He talked about how all he wants is to make me smile and make every moment easy for me. He says he wished I could run and play with him, but I was his hero because I didn’t complain and I still do everything to the best of my ability. After hearing my mom read this to me. I internally choked up. I never knew my 10 year old brother thought that way. He never talked about it. And still to this day my brothers do not talk about my disability. I’m not sure if its because they see me for me. But, what my brothers do not know is that they too are my heroes. They are my motivation to live a happy and successful life.

I wish my brothers knew how much I love them. I know if I have fears of my own, they must have their own as well. But together we will over come them because we are ‘the Blohms’. And hell! We are crazy strong! I appreciate my big brothers and I will always be your baby girl!

I Will Die Trying

19 Jul

I view the weary world through a cracked magnifying glass.
There’s no competition against the enthralling, I cannot surpass.
The truth it crarries weighs down my scrawny hand.
Cause I often view from the lonely depths of no mans land.
Transcribing the images I drew in my twisted mind.
The facts are growing and cannot be pushed behind.
I speak positive words in hopes I will believe my own.
Between the lines are worries not shown.
There’s a path, I know, already set for my life.
But some points I have crossed have brought strife.
What am I to do, other then push ahead?
I will conquer all demons, I’ll be the last one dead.

A cold stare

17 Jul

I say to myself “just go with the flow”.
Drift wherever the unsettling wind may blow.
Stuck on a thought I’m unable to shake.
Sick off the poison from this villainous snake.
I await a touch, a gentle hand.
Someone who embraces life, who understands.
You see my friend, I’m a special one.
I won’t settle for that loaded pistol gun.
I’ve polished my smile so no individual could see.
The unsure choler that hovers deep within me.
My reality stares at me dead straight in the face.
This is your destiny, this is your place.
So I listen intensely with an open ear.
Trying not to depict discomfort, malice or sneer.
My hourglass is fixed to a battered table.
Each grain fallen leaves me feeling more unstable.
I greet each day as a new one arises.
Because there’s beauty in the trouble of all surprises.
So I sit and I ponder as to what it is I repeatably seek.
Cause these souls I turn to for answers are miserably bleak.