Every day is a fight against the body and time. Every day I watch what I eat, I lust and crave foods I can not have (unless I want to accept the dire consequences) and I dread the arrival of 3 am.
Sleep is useless, my day is completely turned around. It doesn't matter if I try to sleep to avoid what I fear. It wakes me up. It wakes me up with the cold kiss of death, leaving my intestines, thyroid gland and brain in agony, pain, nausea and with the imminent presence of the last breath. And I suffer for hours. Though the nausea, no matter how much I want to devoid my stomach, thinking it just might ease it a little, I can not get anything passed my thyroid gland; it sits like a basketball in my throat blocking everything, including my airways. And the lungs seems to just not want to take another breath. All night, I fear, I am on my tip toes at the same time I try to relax as much as possible to not strain myself. I don't even dare to clean my helix piercing properly because of the fear that it will get angry and send me back to hell; the living hell.
Once I finally get some peace, I sleep out the day, waking up only to catch a glance of the grey last beams of daylight, left with only the option of reaching out my hand through the small side-window in the kitchen trying to grasp some of the vitamins it holds. Though the light hurts me, I probably need every measure of nutriments I can get.
...And the passer by gets a nice view of young sick pale yellowish naked body.
It hurts everywhere, but the pain is welcome, even the frenetic itch on the back of my hands are welcome as a distraction from that. Pain I can deal with, pain I am used to, but that I can never get used to.
I can feel how my weak body is consuming itself. Gnawing off it's own bones, eating what little muscles I have left after all these years of pain, lethargy and illness. I dream of a swim, a nice long walk or scaling a tree. I dream about having a proper conversation, being able to use some of my brain. I dream about biking up those horrible hills I used to have to overcome every time I was going home as a kid.
I fear, I dread and I loath what just might strike me, if I am careless or just because it feels a little extra malicious that night. I can't describe the feeling of only being able to focus one's thoughts on the phrase "I don't want to die" and through all those hours of agony having to settle one's mind and be at ease with the fact that there might not be a tomorrow, that one just might not wake up ever again. Sobbing out "I love you" to the one closest and dearest, because there might not be another chance to do so.
And the the weakness the day after. Standing up is impossible. And the fear, the continuous awareness and the worrying about it's return, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow or the day after that...
I don't even dare to feel, maybe it comes if I let my mental guard down? Maybe it consumes me if I feel just the tiniest amount of sadness or maybe weakened by lust? My only desire I can meet, the only physical action I am still capable of, the thing that still bounds me to this world and to humanity though I ironically enough am turned into an animal at that time..? Maybe that, which some call sin or sinful, my way of expressing love is inviting it in to cause that horrid thing in me? Or maybe that, which is my way of showing love is strengthening me? I do not know.
It is as if this wicked sickness of mine, likes the psychological warfare as much as the physical torment.
This wicked sickness of mine...
I want to live.
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