I've always enjoyed the serenity and isolation of the wilderness and the countryside. It fits me well in a lot of ways. It gives me a place to retreat to when times get tough. It gives me a place to hide from the judging eyes of modern society, and a place to spend hours and days exploring without it getting boring. I'd spend a lot more time out there if I didn't have Cystic Fibrosis, but somehow shared the same personality and views on life without CF as I do now, which to me is questionable. Would I be the same person if I didn't have to suffer nearly as much? No. 

Truth is, I'd probably be just like the modern stereotype of a teenage girl, and I don't like that idea too much, and neither do my parents. I can't see myself wearing makeup, dressing up in as little clothing as possible, or getting myself into typical teenage drama. However, I'm fairly certain I would've done those things if I wasn't challenged the way CF has challenged me. I'm just glad I've learned hard lessons in other ways and turned out the way that I am, and so are my parents. 

While I've dealt with bullies, it wasn't their words that hurt, it was their actions. I'd be shoved against lockers, had doors slammed in my face, be the main target in dodge ball, and completely isolated because the students assumed CF was contagious, and rumor had it anyone who got it would die. I never cared if they called me names for wearing camo hoodies and jeans, or being a hardcore tomboy. In fact, I took pride in being called names such as "Hick", "White trash", and "Redneck". I still feel joy when I'm addressed as "Redneck". I worked hard for that nickname, and I hold that title with pride. 

When I started talking more about my CF on social media, and began to attract the attention from the CF community, a few larger names got offended for no other reason than I was "too damn well to have CF!" as one person put it. Some people private messaged me on Instagram, demanding picture proof I have CF, such as pictures of my treatments and pills. Even then, not all of them were satisfied, and the "intervention" private message group I was unwillingly added into, fell apart and all the people involved in it blocked me. I don't have much of an explanation for that, but I've seen other CFers address things like that on social media since. 

I wasn't bothered by this. In fact, it was pretty entertaining for the few hours it lasted. If I'm too healthy to be a genuine member of the CF community, well then, it works for me. I'd rather be alive than dying, and if the CF community is only for those who are actually dying, then I won't be part of that. Luckily, not long after, the BBC came out with a mini documentary about an Australian bodybuilder with CF, who looks like and calls himself Thor. So, the CF community had a bit of a wake-up call, and I haven't been accused of faking CF since. 

My mom has received similar harassment when she talked about my non-conventional treatments. People are so scared of going against the norm, they'll witch-hunt anyone who does. My mom is a fighter though and (secretly) likes some drama, so she dealt with those who were commenting mean and ignorant stuff, and she did it while laughing. She said she felt bad for them. Many of those people were either dying from CF or directly related to someone who was, and mom just told me something along the lines of, "You can warn people of the stampede, but don't die in it with them if they refuse to listen." 

While my mom can't go a day without expressing her love and pride for me, she doesn't see eye-to-eye with me in a lot of ways. She doesn't know how a girly city girl like her could've raised a redneck tomboy like me. She sometimes thinks I need to flaunt my beauty and show off my scars, but just the idea of doing that makes me shiver. She doesn't know how I can eat any and all kinds of meats including liver, heart, and rocky mountain oysters, and take the life of my own food. She sees Bambi and Winnie the Pooh, while I see a walking sirloin with a side of peas and carrots. 

But most of all, she really doesn't understand why it's so hard for me to socialize and make friends. I've tried to explain it to her many times, but she just doesn't always get it. She thinks I'm just being weird, and I just need to get over it. However, as time goes on, I think she's starting to see why. She sees how sociable I can be, but only sees that with people I've known for awhile and can sort of trust. Even though she occasionally tells me to stop being a wuss and just get out there, she's glad I keep my distance from everyone until I know them well enough. Her messages can be mixed sometimes, but I think that's because she hoped for me to turn out normal, but is glad that I'm not at the same time. And I understand her feelings very well. 

I want to be normal, but I'm glad I'm not. Sometimes I wish I can just go with the grain and fit in, but then I'm reminded that normal is boring and going with the crowd is often destructive. Sometimes I ask God, "Why, oh why?", but then something happens that brings me back to thanking God for even my worst days. Sometimes I just want to give up, but then I remember that giving up means to die, and I want to live more than anything. Sometimes I think about blending in with the crowd by dressing like most of my peers, but then I remember that A) it would make my life suck, B) I would hate every second of it, and C) I remember my mom's warnings about dressing up like that, and how it typically attracts all the wrong people. Sometimes I wish I was in a pack, but it's way more awesome to be a lone wolf!

So, just like my parents have said, I need to be glad that I'm not normal and take pride in it. My unwillingness to go with the flow has not only saved my dignity, but it has saved my life. If I just went along with the conventional treatments for CF, chances are I would be just as sick as everyone else. If I didn't proudly give modern society the finger and tried to mold myself into it, I don't even know where I'd be, but it wouldn't be a great place. 

While I don't mix in with the city, I fit in pretty well with the country. I'm not sure how I turned out this way, but I think my dad and most of the rest of my family had something to do with it. My dad has taken me to his childhood farm year after year, where I spent quality time with my family. As I grew older alongside my cousins, I occasionally joined in on their shenanigans, however I've strongly rejected alcohol and 3 AM truck races down the dark country roads, as well as other things. I'm the only city-raised person that my cousins haven't called a wuss or a city-slicker. In fact, with a little bit of my dad's influence, they're the ones who came up with the nickname "Redneck" for me. 

I'm usually successful at fishing and hunting, I know how to race a mean dirtbike, and I can help out on the farm without complaint. I find it fun to chase cows on foot and test my strength by lifting up hay bales and bags of grain. Plus, who doesn't like to hang out with cute little calves, barn kittens, and hunting puppies? I'm not a wuss, and most of the locals can't tell me apart from the rest of the family. While I know how to raise hell and have fun, I do it without being illegal and stupid. I've proven to everyone that I'm just as country as everyone else. I just got stuck in Denver for some reason. 

The only outdoors things I don't really enjoy are camping and hiking. This is surprising to most people. I just don't see the point in hiking on the same trails everyone else has gone, and camping is anything but easy with the things I have to carry with me wherever I go. I love spending long nights in cabins and around fires in the woods, but not only does it make my treatments pointless when I go camping, but I can't sleep well in a place that isn't solid and clean like a house or a cabin. 

I think my dad traumatized me out of camping when we stayed in a friend's camper. His friend said the camper was nice and clean, but we soon realized that we weren't staying in the nice camper his friend had; we were staying in a camper that hadn't been used in at least 5 years, and was just as it was four decades before. No sleep was had that night, and it was the longest 8 hours of my life by far!

The place was infested with spiders of all kinds, and both dad and I wrapped ourselves in every hoodie and sleeping bag we had, and hoped nothing would crawl in with us. It didn't help that there were screaming mountain cats and growling coyotes prowling around our camper like sharks circling a kayak. At one point, I heard a coyote pawing the exterior of the camper trying to find a way in. My dad was at the other end of the camper, and said he heard something jump on on the side to sniff around the open window above his head.

Dad had left some summer sausage out on the table under a slightly open window, and all of the nocturnal creatures of the woods came over to investigate. Worse yet, we didn't have a gun with us, and our little swiss army knives wouldn't do much against an invading pack of coyotes or a cougar. Dad and I were both paralyzed with fear until the sun started coming up. As soon as it was light enough to see without a flashlight, we booked it to the Xterra with our things and got the hell out of there! The only thing I left behind was any possibility of me ever enjoying another night at a campsite ever again!

While I don't go camping anymore, I have no problem with the wilderness at night. In fact, I usually love it. Interesting animals come out at night, and as long as they don't have me trapped in a spider-infested camper in the middle of the pitch dark woods without a rifle or cell service, I'm perfectly content.  Out in Minnesota, sometimes my uncle Wes and I will stand on his front porch and howl into the night. Occasionally, we get a response from isolated packs of coyotes prowling around nearby. We'll also see bats pass by the house and firelight, and sometimes we'll see deer and coyotes trotting across the fields against the moonlight. 

The Milky Way stretches across the sky above our farm every night. Sometimes we'll spend hours just staring up at the sky. Other nights, we'll keep a fire going from sundown till dawn. I've never spent a whole night up. By 4 am, I'm literally falling asleep standing up no matter how many Mountain Dews are in my system, so I'll go into the house and crawl into bed until breakfast is served at grandma's. 

Around the fire, everything from important family stuff to true scary stories are shared. Wes likes sharing his knowledge about local native american stories and legends, and has a habit of going on political rants. My uncle Wade almost always has some new crazy story to share. My aunt Stacy will bring up the paranormal and other weird things she and the family have experienced. And sometimes I'll talk about life in the city which usually turns into a rant that everyone agrees with. Surrounded by family and friends around the fire is far from lonely, and I miss that whenever I go back home. 

Sometimes, coming back home feels like pulling on a crusty old gym sock. Here in Denver, I don't have many friends, and I haven't met a lot of people who can even begin to understand why I am the way that I am. All I have to keep in touch with family are social media and frequent phone calls. Sometimes I get teary-eyed when they send me pictures of the adventures they're having without me, especially when they say how much they miss me. And I cried the hardest I've cried in a long time when my dad called me sobbing, telling me to pack my bags, because I was headed to Minnesota for the one thing I've never wanted to go there for. 

When I'm at home, I don't go a day without thinking about my family and the farm. It's in my blood, and I can't help but wonder what is going on down there while I'm away. But also when I'm home, I have a lot of other things to think about and keep me busy. Chores must be done, I have projects I want to do, food to cook, a dog to entertain, and other things that help to keep me busy and my mind off my issues. 

I have chances here and there to retreat to the wilderness and countryside even at home. There's miles and miles of dirtbike trails in the mountains, thousands of acres of hunt, and places to ride horses at. However, as fun as those things are, they don't usually help me make friends. And, when I do try to be social, chances are people will treat me differently since I have a disease they don't realize I can handle on my own. 

So, I've had to come to the conclusion that I may never lose this feeling of loneliness. There's not a lot of people out there who can really relate to what I've been through, and what I do to stay alive and well on a daily basis. Those who understand seem to be dying and dead, and those who don't are healthy and perfectly normal. So maybe, this loneliness is a good thing. It forces me to keep adapting to new people and changes, rather than sticking to the same old stuff. It forces me to get out there, kinda like what my mom wants for me, so I can learn and grow. 

Being my own hero is a difficult thing. I don't have a path already cut out for me to follow, like so many people seem to have. I have to be my own experiment sometimes. I'm on medication that has never been tried before, and that takes a lot of guts. I'm somehow keeping control of a disease that isn't supposed to be very controllable, and for some reason I represent less than 1% of the CF population when it comes to health. In fact I'm so healthy, people frequently accuse me of lying. I take pride in that!

I think it takes a little insanity to live this kind of life. I'm already fully aware that I have at least one screw loose somewhere. If I didn't, then I wouldn't own a dirtbike. Perhaps that is why I'm alive. My willingness to try even the wildest things, has led me to try some lifesaving medication that I didn't know for sure would work. Some of those medications would've had dire consequences if they did not work. It took a lot of faith and a lot of guts to leap so confidently into uncertainty like I have. I'm the only one that I've ever known of who has done such things to stay alive. 

People have called me stupid and reckless for trying out non-conventional CF treatments. I've been told that what I'm doing is suicide, and as I mentioned earlier, many big CFers on social media have blocked me from ever seeing their faces again, on the basis that I'm some sort of illness faker. It may sound painful, but I actually feel better about whatever I'm doing, whenever someone who is or knows of a dying CFer takes time out of their day to let my mom and I know that I'm an idiot.

It hurts to know that there's so many people out there with my disease that are suffering so much worse than I am. I can't get their faces out of my head, and I often see them in my nightmares. It's not like I can ever meet them face-to-face to give them a hug as much as I want to, for fear of cross-contamination. CF is worse than anything really, since patients can't even meet up each other for just a simple chat over lunch. I never have and probably never will meet another CFer, and neither will they. 

I'm alone and isolated, stuck fighting a disease no one can fight except me. But, I'm not depressed or in pain. My life is far from being restricted to medical treatments and beds. I'm healthy, able, and rather content with life. I'm proud of who I am, and how I turned out to be. I'm a fighter; God's chosen soldier to fight a disease only 70,000 people in the world can fight, and one of the few thousand in the world who can actually win this fight against an incurable and progressing disease. It's a lonely life, but loneliness builds character, and character builds hope (Romans 5:3-5 is one of my favorite Bible verses). 

People have asked me for advice for loneliness, and if you ask me, I'm the worst person to get advice from. I'm crazy (in a good way), I'm wild (in a good way), and my body runs very... uniquely, I guess is the best way to put it. I'm a real life mutant freak, so what works for me may or may not work for everyone else. But, for those who are feeling alone or stick out like a sore thumb; own it! Just own it! Be yourself, screw the haters, and get on with life! That's what I've done, and the act of not giving a damn about what the world thinks has worked great for me.