Heya Everybody!
It’s me again, your one and only lil Josie!
Some of you know me from my childhood battle with my leukemia (thanks for helping me kick cancer’s butt!), and others know me from my challenges living with type 1 diabetes since I was eleven years old. Managing the cost of my special U-500 insulin has always been super-duper challenging, since I need to get it imported from Frankfurt, Germany, and lately the prices have, sigh, skyrocketed.
Even though I’m working a full-time job (shout-out to Grace & Honor, visit our web page, where my bedazzled phone casesare 40% off), and I’ve cut back on every non-essential cost I can think of (I even took a break this semester from school!), I go to bed every night completely freaked out that I will not be able to afford my next dose. Guys, insulin is my lifeline—and that’s why I am launching this GoFundMe campaign.
My goal is to raise enough funds to cover six months’ worth of medication, including shipping and storage costs. Every contribution makes a humongous difference and is a major impact in terms of my ability to live my life.
But if you can’t make a donation today, please feel free to share my story. It totally sucks to have to choose between finances and health, and I appreciate every last penny you can spare.
Thank you soooo much!!
I love you all times a million.
XO Josie
The photo is of me from about nine years ago, standing inPowerpuffpajama bottoms and a Shelton Softball T-shirt without a bra. You can see the bumps of my new breasts and the shadows of my nipples. The ickiest part of all is that I’m holding Bun-Bun, my plushie rabbit, when I’m clearly too old to be clutching a stuffed animal.
Of course Mom saidschoolinstead ofcollege. She wants me to sound like a child! What manipulative bullshit.
My cheeks burn and tears sting my eyes. I can’t sit here andlook at this—the humiliation actually feels physical—so I jump out of the car again, right into the pouring rain.
I imagine my mother’s face when I get home—that very specific, shiny-eyed high as she listens to theka-chingcash register sounds as the donations for her latest fundraiser hit her phone.
I feel so trapped. Nothing in that post is technically a lie. And yet.
I look up to the dark sky, to the universe beyond, and plead for some guidance. Just one sign. The universe, of course, doesn’t answer.
As much as Axe thinks I’m a dimwit, I’m not usually the type of person who is desperate enough to yell up at the heavens.
And then I see it, and I can’t help myself. I start laughing, then crying, then laugh-crying so hard that my tears mix with the rain.
There it is—a giant billboard, not two hundred feet away.
Aliteralfucking sign that reads:Take the Exit to a New You.
It’s an ad for a plastic surgeon, but it might as well be mocking me straight to my face. I’m right back to an hour ago, on Axe’s rooftop, when he let slip the three magic words:premium health insurance.
Nothing would be an easier exit to a whole new me than having my medical costs covered. What’s worse than my mom pimping out my sickly adolescent body and asking people to send her money for financial struggles she won’t even explain to me?
Premium health insurance.
Take the Exit to a New You.
My mind races, and I wonder, panicking for a second, whether my face looks just like my mom’s did when I came home. That same frantic desperation. Because I’ll admit it—I want, no, Ineedcash. My budget is so tight, I have no clue how I’ll pay for the tow truck and a new tire. I can’t even afford to get home.
Besides, what’s the difference between the “disposition” that my mom invented for me as a way to shake the money tree for my diabetes-related expenses and the “disposition” that Axe’s horny SynthoTech geeks think makes me a good choice of girlfriend for She’s the One?
I guess I’ve always been a curious mix of contradictions—how could I not be? Living under the spotlight as a child with a terminal illness, I’ve been performing my whole life.
But with Axe’s offer, I’d have an active say in the project. Or at least I’d demand one before agreeing to anything. That’s the difference. I could shape how the ideal girlfriend gets rolled out. Whereas when it comes to JosieFightsOn, my mom has turned me into a Frankensteinian creation, cooked up by social media’s algorithms and a careful study of click metrics, without any consideration for who I might want to be or who I really am.
With Axe’s offer, I’d have a real shot at getting off my parents’ insurance plan. Getting out of their house. Stopping the constant drain on their finances. Finally, independence. My entire relationship with my family and friends—my entire life—has been dictated by my health needs. I need to take back some control.
I look up at the sky again. Wipe the rain and tears from my face with my sleeve.
A literal sign in front of me. Just the other day, I flipped a Tower card—a hint it was time to take a big swing.
