blogging, creative writing, culture, life, writer, writing

Do You Really Want to Know…?

You ask me that infamous question…”What’s it like living with a rare disorder?”

But, do you really want to know?

You don’t really want to know what it was like to be the kid who had six surgeries, endless doctors appointments, was bullied throughout school, or what it was like to lose my eyesight in high school and the ordeal that followed in order to regain it back. What it was like to think back and ponder the fact that I almost didn’t make it to my high school graduation. That two months before those honor cords were placed around my neck, I attempted to end my life.

You don’t really want to know what it’s like to have to unwrap and rewrap wounds when hopping into the shower, a process that takes about an hour from start to finish every morning.

You don’t really want to know what it feels like when a bandage slips causing the gauze to stick to the wound, what it feels like to rip it off in order to redo the bandage.

You don’t really want to know how much blood has escaped my veins or that my body is so accustomed to the physical pain that my tolerance for it is much too high.

You don’t really want to know what it feels like to be stared at as you’re going about your business grocery shopping. How others make snarky or belittling comments under their breath, they think they’re being sneaky, but my sonar ears hear every word.

You don’t really want to know how much energy it takes to make sure those ignorant comments just ping right off of my bulletproof exterior, or how many scars are on my tongue from biting back my replies.

You don’t really want to know how much creativity I drill into everyday skills so that I can independently live my every day life.

You don’t really want to know what type of mental damage occurs when you’re labeled as physically damaged. The dark thoughts that eat at your mind, the restraint to not take your own life away from your family and friends. How hard it truly is to hold back the midnight tears, to push down all of that social negative shit.

You don’t really want to know what it’s like trying to breakdown your walls and remain genuine in a world that breathes out their negative vibes.

You don’t really want to know what it’s like to see couples in love and know that it doesn’t matter how much you dream of being in a healthy, genuinely loving relationship, in the end it is just a dream. That the storyline of Love And Other Drugs or Me & You is just Hollywood, not inspiration to keep searching for your soulmate. To hold onto the hopes that there is a guy out there that will look right past the outer exterior, he’ll see me for me, a mere wish placed upon a penny.

You don’t really want to know what 24 hours of living my life consists of. You don’t want to know why I keep fighting, why I want to help others. You don’t really want to know the real me and that’s ok…

But, don’t falsely act like you want to know, that you actually care. That’s just wrong.

So, before you ask me what it’s like living with a rare disorder, make sure you really want to know.

Make no mistake, I live in a prison
That I built myself, it is my religion
And they say that I am the sick boy
Easy to say, when you don’t take the risk, boy
Welcome to the narcissism
Where we’re united under our indifference… -The Chainsmokers

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Seventeen

There you were, your motionless frame lying on the storm soaked ground. Your chest no longer breathing, your cerebral no longer pulsating, your heart no longer beating.

An unmarked body that now reveals the evidence of how the angel of death came about to kiss your forehead. In between your head and shoulder is all the proof needed, deep red life that spilled out from their veins through the small gash located on your neck.

Eyes closed, lips shaded a frozen purple and your pale flesh now corpse like blue. You exhaled your last breath much too soon. A dizzying question fills my eyes with tears. Did this mortal warrior fight with every ounce, a battle well fought to the inevitable end or did the warrior that now lays on the ground enter into a suicide mission?

Externally I shed a few respectful tears before doing what needs to be done. Internally I’m shouting to the point of combustion, feeling angry that you’re gone. Angry with the nearing realization that you may have simply given up. My six and a half sized feet want to run off the stabbing emotions, my mouth wants to swear. But, I can’t. Now is not the time and even if a few selected moments were awarded to do so, I don’t deserve them.

Because the black truth is that I know why you met with your demise. I know who sliced your neck. Unfortunately it is not Saturday night and we are not playing a game. This is not a case of Who Done It or speculating that the murderer is Colonel Mustard in the library with a knife.

The person with the knife, the one whos hands are now eternally stained with your blood, the murderer… it’s me.

You died because of me… because I left you to fight a battle that you were unprepared for, a battle that you were unequipped to fight. Blinded by the tough smile that you were born with, I pridefully figured that you could handle life and what it threw your way. My clouded assumptions distracted my clarity. Only after your final cry for help escaped into the skies did I pay attention. However, a final cry it was not. By the time I reached the battlefield the war was over, the rain began pouring and you were laying inside the inviable chalk outline. Every broken piece, every internal gash, every external wound… all marking every time a single S.O.S was shouted. And I selfishly ignored them.

Time to finish what you started. With a shovel in hand the dirt is dug up. Seven feet below is where I lay you to rest. This silver I.D. bracelet is what I place upon this fresh grave. A moment of silent apologies and a promise that my sole mission in life is to carry out your legacy. Ensure that every scar was well-earned and that your story protects, possibly even saves fellow souls sending out their S.O.S.

Years have blinked by, but your memory lives deeply. I, present, lay here in the dark feeling sadly nostalgic. I’ll never forget you 17.

Save your razorblades now, not yet….we’ll win, but not everyone will get out…. -Twenty One Pilots

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My Thoughts, Your Ears

If you listen closely enough, you can hear the thoughts spiraling around someone’s mind or heart without them saying a word….

Shhhhh..just listen…

Habits by Machine Gun Kelly

Me, Myself and I by G-Eazy

Let You Down by NF

Running From my Shadow by Mike Shinoda

Home by Machine Gun Kelly

Jumpsuit by Twenty One Pilots

Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons

Sad Song by We The Kings

Hold Me Tight or Don’t by Fall Out Boy

Church by Fall Out Boy

Heaven’s Gate by Fall Out Boy

blog, blogger, blogging, creative writing, culture, life, Uncategorized, writer, writing

Shame On Me

Hey guys, one of my best friends and I collaborated on this blog idea. Brandi and I wrote about self love. Please make sure you head over to her blog and check out her piece & amazing work. She is such a talented writer.

Something ain’t right inside of me… -MGK

Shame on me for having freckles that are sporadically speckled all over my body. Shame on me for having scars that intermingle with certain areas on my body. Shame on me for not having a perfect human form that is beautifully tan and unblemished.

Shame on me for having a physical disorder that has left behind evidence of surgeries. Shame on me for being a size zero in jeans, I must having an eating disorder, right. Shame on me for not being the perfect specimen that society prefers I’d be in order to be deemed acceptable.

Shame on me…

I became such a strange shape tryin’ to fit in… -FOB

Shame on me for finding contentment within myself, with my body. Shame on me for loving my porcelain freckled skin. Shame on me for being proud of my scars, for they are the proof that I have survived many battles, both physical and mental. Shame on me for tarnishing my body with inky pictures that describe certain parts of my life’s story.

Shame on me for having an appetite for all different types of cuisine, including delicious carbs. Shame on me for being born into this world damaged and loving that fact.

Shame on me for loving humans for who they are, for their intellectual minds, their kind hearts and beautiful souls. Shame on me for not judging someone because of their imperfections.

Shame on me for going against the grain, for thinking outside the box, for standing up for what’s right and shame on me for starting a fire and continually adding fuel to it.

Shame on me…

Sing it for the boys, sing it for the girls…sing it out for the ones that will hate your guts… sing it for the world…MCR

blog, blogger, blogging, writer, writing

Silver Dagger Book Tours: Guest Post

Hey guys, how’s it going? Yesterday kicked off a second blog tour for Dear You and I thought I’d share a guest post I did over on Silver Dagger’s site.

http://www.silverdaggertours.com/sdsxx-tours/dear-you-book-tour-and-giveaway

What’s Good World!?

Hey guys, how’s life treating you?

My intensions for this quick blog post is to introduce myself, give you the 411 with what’s what.

So to start, my name is Derra or as my friends call me D. I was born in Covina California, I have moved around a few times, but have remained a Cali chica livin’ that SoCal life of summer days spent at the beach and 50% of my diet being a mix of mexican food (carnitas tacos) and In-N-Out burgers, lol. Growing up I wanted to be a fashion designer as well as a drummer in a punk rock band. I was and still am a big fan of bands like Blink 182, Green Day, Pink, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Twenty One Pilots and Artists like Beyonce, Lady GaGa and Eminem.

How writing came into play is crazy. I had always enjoyed writing since a youngster, just jotting down the random thoughts that spun in my imaginitive mind, yet as I got older writing became more of an escape.

An escape from living life with a rare disorder, an escape from the surgeries, the bullies, my anxiety and an escape from my suicidal thoughts. I am not the most open person, emotions such as sadness, anger, grief, stress…these emotions place my mouth in lock down mode while my mind is racing DK style. Writing started as an innocent hobby, then morphed into an escape, then transformed into a career choice. More than that though, writing has helped me to heal many mental wounds, it has allowed my voice to speak, it has allowed me to take my broken story and share it with those who are going through their own storms. When life knocks us down, when we live in the darkness, we feel as though we are alone, but we’re not. I know first hand just how difficult and nerve wracking it is to speak up, to ask for help. I never understood why I survived as long as I have, especially with a disorder that was destined to kill me years ago and even though I still struggle with the reasoning as to why I am still resideing on this planet, I am certain of one aspect…I am here to to show the world that broken doesn’t mean damaged.

My name is Derra Nicole Sabo. I am a daughter, a sister, a best friend, a foodie, a coffee addict, a bookworm, a beach baby, a music lover and movie buff. I am a writer, a blogger and a survivor.

I am an underdog with a story to tell and I hope that you’ll take a few moments to listen.

blog, blogging, life, writer, writing

Four Years Ago

Four years ago…

Sitting here on the cooling sands, watching the sun kiss the moon goodnight, a fleet of memories and realities slam my mind. As the breeze calls for my hoodie to cover my chilled bones, these tears begin to trickle down my freckled cheeks. The thought of my demise never bothered me, this type of life that was cursed upon me includes death as a forefront thought that never takes a break. Yet here I am, shivering at the thought that death has finally kissed my forehead.

My past flashing by, the memories of birthdays and holidays spiral by. Watergun fights, family Bbq’s, endless beach trips, graduations, family game nights, concerts and hockey games.

Past scars temporarily unstitching themselves causing flashes of surgeries, bullies and dark times that tried to break me and damn near did.

I survived. Everything the world hurled at me and here I am still dancing.

Then my mind shifted to all the future beautiful moments I’m never going to witness.

Sharing my story with others, being their jumpsuits. Turning up the volume in ending the stigma that continues to stifle the suicidal hearts. I had plans…

Is the toxicity of my last relationship going to be what I have to try and consider love?

I’m never going to find true love, to have that day of saying “I do” to my “Jack” in front of our family and close friends…I’ll never have kids, to see them grow up, smile as they wake Christmas morning, to make pancakes with them on weekends, to watch them fall in love with the beach while enjoying an gooey s’more and bonfires. I’ll never get to cheer them on at their sports games, school plays, graduations. I’ll never get to spoil them on their birthdays or hand over those keys when they get their license.

The thought of watching my kids find their soulmates, having families of their own and being the Grandma who gets to spoil her grandkids is fading with every tear. The wish of sitting on the front porch with my partner when we’re 80 years old, sipping tea and remenicsing down memory lane was vastly slipping into the land of the forgotten.

These dreams of mine hung in the balance right beside these decisions I need to sign, seal and deliver.

Do I pull myself back into the world I swore I’d never reenter?

Do I do morph, fight and conquer once again? Do I have enough energy, enough will to do so?

What if this battle isn’t victorious…all the research I’ve done (from dietary changes to vitamins, supplements) what if it fails. Do I cave to professionals or do I punch out (PAS) while I’m still myself?

Every memory played in my mind like the most beautifully intense movie I’ve ever seen.

Every broken dream flickered in my eyes.

……………..

Four years later…turns out this world and I aren’t finished with one another yet…

Perhaps that kiss from death was for good luck in the future…

Everytime I think I’m done, something pulls me back in…

I just wish I knew what that something is because I’d like to say thank you…

I’ll be right there, but you’ll have to grab my throat and lift me in the air…if you need anyone… -Twenty One Pilots

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Book Review with Sprinkle of Books: Dear You

Firstly, I want to thank Sprinkle of Books for participating in the Dear You blog tour. Below is their review. Enjoy 🤓

SPRINKLE OF BOOKS: BOOK REVIEW
*I was sent a copy of this book for review as part of a blog tour. All opinions are honest and my own*

I’m just going to start this off by saying I loved this. It’s the first read in a while, where I just feel so connected to what is being told. Dear You is a collection of letters, written by Derra to family and friends, narrating parts of her life. In such a short space of time, you learn so much about Derra and what she has been through, both the good and the bad and more importantly, how she has come back from the bad.
I loved the format of this and the personal feel to each letter. It just felt like such a unique experience and almost felt like I was joined with Derra, following her journey for real.
Each letter told a new part of Derra’s story, it was a new connection to Derra. I felt like I had known her all my life, but also that I hadn’t.
The depth to each letter, reading all these glimpses of events that happened to Derra made me so emotional. I never really cry at books, but everything about this one seemed to make me feel such strong emotions and I felt I had a real connection to Derra, despite having next to no similarities.
There were some hard bits to get through in this story and I only managed to get through them because I realised that for me to be reading about them, meant they had actually happened to Derra, It was like a rollercoaster of emotions reading letter to letter, but one I’m glad I went on.
I loved the relationship Derra has with her father, with the water fights etc. It was such a cute father, daughter relationship and made me smile for them. I also enjoyed reading about the letters to both her sister and her brother, showing the sibling relationships that I can relate to very much. It seemed to push this really important family dynamic and it was interesting to see this from a different persons’ perspective.
Along the way there are some quite motivational and inspiring moments as we read about the problems Derra has overcome and how she has managed to become such a strong person. I really loved these bits and felt I could relate so much.
Overall, I’m really glad I got the chance to read and review such an important, but also personal book. I’d definitely recommend this to anyone, but please keep in mind this book does cover some dark topics and these may be sensitive to some people. I’m definitely going to keep an eye out for more work from Derra and hope it can have as much of an affect as Dear You had on me.
Rate – 4.25/5

https://sprinkleofbooks.weebly.com/blog/spoiler-free-review-dear-you-by-derra-nicole-sabo

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35910544-dear-you?ac=1&from_search=true