Wings

At 6 years old, I wanted to be a fairy-wizard. I even had my babysitter borrow a spells and potions book from the library to have her turn me into a fairy. My wings are supposed to sprout at 20. I am currently 19 and nothing has happened yet, so safe to say that was fake.

At 10, I wanted to be a veterinarian. When I was 12, we put my dog down. I never considered being a veterinarian again. When I was 14, I wanted to be a photographer. My older sister’s friend wanted to be one, and I wanted to be just like her. Then I googled the salary, plus camera costs, plus editing software. I have no regrets about leaving that for her, especially when she is one of those people you regret ever admiring.

At 15, I wanted to be an author, specifically a novelist or a poet. I hate poetry. Rhyming is hard. I feel like I do not know enough words to be successful at sharing how I feel.

Then I decided I wanted to go into the FBI. I wanted to be like Penelope Garcia, from the show Criminal Minds. My mom recommended forensic accounting. But I hate math. And death grosses me out. Especially handling the family of the deceased.

When I was 16, I wanted to be an English as a second language teacher. I was studying Spanish and liked learning about other cultures. But I do not like kids enough to teach them. I am scared about moving away and getting stuck in another country. I do not want to be that far from my family.

At 17, I had a conversation with my physical therapist and his student, a physical therapist assistant student from the community college. I really did not know what I wanted in life at that point, but I liked anatomy and I wanted to help people, so being a PTA did not seem like a bad idea.

I was 18 when I got into the program. I was 19 when I quit.

I was 14 when I sprained my ankle. I had surgery at 15. I was discharged from physical therapy at 16. I went back at 17. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia at 18. My fingers are flexible. I can do more than touch toes, putting my hands flat on the ground. My elbows hyperextend. If I cross my arms behind my back, my right shoulder will pop out. I can no longer stand for long period of time. I may have a connective tissue disorder, but I would not know, no one will test me for it.

I quit a PTA program at 19 because I cannot sleep. I am in too much pain to continue in a program in which I never get a break. I messed my elbow up during a practical at school. It never would have happened to someone else. I just do not have control over my body anymore.

I wanted to help people who could not advocate for themselves, like I could not advocate for myself. But I cannot do that anymore.

Now I do not know what I want to do. I like anatomy. I still like photography. I like writing and have learned how to express my feelings. I have learned how to interact with people and love them.

But I am tired, and I hurt. Wings can grow in nine months, right?