My name is Tracy. I’m human and I’m a child of God.
I am not ridiculous or an idiot as you called me today. I don’t need to “grow-up” just because I’m upset. Honestly, you telling me to grow-up is you calling the kettle black: you blasted me while you were half naked, frustrated for not getting what you wanted.
I am not my illness or weight. I am not perfect.
I am an artist, a photographer, a writer who feels things.
Perhaps I am sensitive — after all I am a human being who feels the sting of being hurt.
I am Catholic. Neurotic. Flawed.
I’m many things to many people. A caretaker to four adults with special needs. A daughter, a sister, a niece, an aunt, a granddaughter. I’m frustrated, tired, and happy at any given time or all at once.
Maybe your assumptions are accurate. Maybe not. But you don’t know me. Based your frustration at not getting what you wanted, you made a judgment call.
On any given day, I’m many things: selfish, fickle, immature. If you’d taken the time to be less selfish yourself you’d know my name is Tracy, not Suzy Q and I am a child of God.