Which came first, the chicken or the egg? If it’s the chicken, then the egg is a lie; it doesn’t exist because the chicken gives the illusion of an egg. If it’s the egg, then the chicken came about from years of failure, years of doctors and coaches putting me down, telling me poultry is a figment of imagination. So much time has gone by, with my pain underestimated, considered exaggerated. But this pain is real, as real as my scars, because this is my real life, which is almost murdered by your refusal to accept it as it is. Which came first, the clinical depression or the arthritis? Which came first, the cuts or the pain? Which came first, your ignorance or that of the world?