Here’s a hashtag #FNF. Stands for Fucking No Fun.

I’m sad. Ain’t gonna lie. I’m sad. The triage nurse was right, under psychological state she clicked: depressive. Funny… she didn’t even ask how I was. I guess a 29 year old male in a lycra TMNT skinsuit at 2 in the morning in a wheelchair can’t be in any other psychological state, she still could’ve asked… I wouldn’t have lied.

I probably wouldn’t have said depressive, but that’s what I would’ve meant.

I really meant 8 out of 10 pain when I said my pain level was 5. I mean, I kinda knew my hip was broken but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think I would die. You’d think they would teach the nurses not to trust a cyclist’s own assessment of pain. Especially if he wears a TMNT Skinsuit. At 2 AM. In a wheelchair. Oh and that drug called adrenaline… They should teach them about that too… And to use good judgment. I wouldn’t be at the hospital if my pain level was actually 5.

You know what I mean.

I wouldn’t lie to the nurse.

I lie to myself everyday.

I am now a 30 year old male with 3 screws in his left hip and I am absolutely aware that “this” is a “crise de la trentaine”. Absolutely freaking out about missed opportunities.

Absolutely aware that I am an idiot privileged white kid that pretended he could be more important, worthy of greater things without breaking a sweat. I’m sorry mom and dad. If I worked harder. Earlier. If I wasn’t delusional. If I wasn’t a bum. I wasn’t a real bum either, I wasn’t really anything. Just this weird guy, that people didn’t understand. I didn’t understand. I’m sorry parents.

Absolutely aware of my confidence issues.

Suicidal. Sure. But I decided not to.

There are a few reasons why I’m still here. They have names. Given and chosen names. They’re princess and dragon simultaneously. They’re dreamers, escape artists and magicians. They remind me to live intentionally. They reminded me with strong language or plain logic, fought with me until I looked up and breathed in. They don’t have to talk. I don’t have to talk. They listen. They understand. I understand. They dropped me a few times up those climbs in the morning, hard to lie to yourself when you can barely make the pedals go round; they also shut up about it. Or not. They are bears. They moved away and inspired me. They kept at it, when they were said no to. Over and over and over.

The stars I am gazing at.

They would be fine without me. It would hurt, but they would be fine. Maybe. Not.

The truth. I’m not fine without them.

“This” leads to now.

To Live Intentionally.

Life.

Ours.