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The Journal of Gilly Wigley

Reflections (11/15/13)
11/24/2013 12:52 a.m.
I’ve come to the realization that when my body decides to finally stop falling apart, it will only last a day. By that time it will immediately start falling back apart again due to old age. I had a heart murmur as a baby, and probably still do, no biggie. Diagnosed with severe scoliosis in 8th grade, compromised lung capacity due to my spine putting pressure on them. Two back surgeries later I am fused from T-2 to T-12. Metal rods in, and then metal rods back out (yay infection), only to have my spine not back at square one, but negative (insert number of choice here). Thankfully my curvature degrees have since remained idle at approximately 36 and 47. But I digress…

I have twisted my knee a solid three too many times, till I finally dislocated it in 10th grade. Catching a frisbee. Standing in place. My high school teacher, thrower of said frisbee, still thinks he is at fault. But I will always blame my father—love you pappy! I then continued to twist my knee a couple-to-a-few more times, and even now it is still giving me shit. I got into a car accident earlier this year, putting me out of work for three months. Have two big black holes buried in my skull that find it perfectly acceptable to produce an ungodly amount of mucus 24/7, and to top it all off I have been hellishly sick for the past 5 fucking days.

Now hold up. Please don’t go around thinking this is just me complaining, or trying to out-best someone in a “my life sucks way more than yours” contest. Because I’m not. Don’t go feeling sorry for me, because I certainly am not. And especially don’t go thinking that I need to know there are an infinite amount of people in this universe worse off than me, because I knew this from the get-go (the get-go being 8th grade). I honest to god (if you believe in one of the many options out there, I don’t, but don’t mind if you do) can never remember myself thinking, saying to myself, or asking my parents “Why me?” Not after being diagnosed with scoliosis, not after the surgeries, and not after my accident this year. Yes, I had my post-op emo teen moments, crying out the window as the neighborhood kids ran about and jumped on trampolines. Or the angsty ones when I wasn’t allowed to lift a five fucking pound box off the kitchen table. But I never once asked “Why me?”

Naturally I wish I didn’t have scoliosis. I wish nobody had it. I wish nobody got into auto accidents either. But the reality of the matter is that there will always be asshat drivers (myself included) on the road, and despite great medical advancements there will always be mammals with curved spines like mine—at least for a long while.

I would like to quote a lyric from a favorite musician/song of mine which I have tattooed down my spine:

“All of these lines across my face tell you a story of who I am, so many stories of where I’ve been, and how I got to where I am…” -The Story (Brandi Carlile)

I’m sure Brandi Carlile’s own personal meaning of said song lyrics is a great bit different than mine. However I am not about to sit around on Songmeanings.com arguing whether or not a song is about a lover, an ex-lover, suicide, a euphemism for sex or drugs, a goldfish, or simply gibberish. I personally believe that an artist—any form—feels or should feel accomplished and satisfied when a piece they have created sparks any amount of any emotion, thinking, curiosity, etc, whether intended or not. All that said, here is what these lyrics mean to me.

My scars and wounds—internal, external, physical, mental, emotional—have made me who I am today, and I wouldn’t go back and change a damn thing.

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