"The effort by which each thing endeavors to persevere in its own being is nothing but the actual essence of the thing itself."
Where did my life go? I’m scared to leave my apartment, for fear people stare at me, laugh at me, upset me. My apartment is safe. It’s safe to be alone, far from real people, far from the real world that is full of so many cruel human beings.
Months and months and months of being shut off from the real world. Perhaps it’s been years, I have lost track of time, lost track of the many hours, perhaps days, I sit in my little apartment, alone, taking medication after medication, without ever even opening a window to take a breath of fresh air. I watched as my hair fell out, I watched as it grew back in, slowly. I watched as scars developed, I watched as they continued to grow, an indication on the exterior of my body, to tell me how bad I was on the interior.
I wonder if my body will ever recover. Will the scars heal? What about the internal scars; the mental and emotional scars that tear me up inside? The loss of confidence, the loss of identification. Where is the ghost of my former self? I lost the irreplaceable.
Sick is so unsexy. Sick is so unbeautiful. Sick takes away all your femininity, all your sexuality, all your outer beauty. To be sick is the opposite of health, the opposite of beauty, the opposite of youth.
I am sick.
I’m stripped bare, my skin and bones are all that’s left of me. My insides are strewn everywhere, my heart rests inside my chest, beating for one man. But the rest of me has gone, worn out, too exhausted to fight any more.
And yet the world continues. Life continues. My family and lover need me. I can’t stop fighting, even if I think I can’t go on much longer, I must keep pushing.
One day it will all be over, scars will fade, tears will dry and I will win the eternal battle. One way or another.
Whether the light at the end of the tunnel is life, or death.
Angel of mine, hold me in your strong arms and tell me everything is going to be okay. I'm scared.