There are some days I believe they are lying.
The doctors, I mean. Some days I think
There couldn’t possibly be anything wrong
With me. Those days are the days I stand in the
Rays of the sun without consequence, the days I
Can pretend that my body hasn’t turned against me,
Hasn’t taken control from me. Some days I think I’m
Not sick anymore, that I was never sick, not really.
Other days, my head is stuck in a toilet, sobbing
Into the bowl as I throw up everything in me. Those
Moments I think even my soul loosens its hold within me and
Ends up flushed down the drain, never to be seen again,
Leaving me to never be me ever again. Other days I wish
To give into the urge and slip into a coma that I’ll wake from
When a cure shows up. To find a little corner of the universe to
Reside in, away from every well meaning but demeaning
Human being that believes they know best. Other days, I
Wish the disease would just take me as a whole instead of
To be honest, I don’t want to be sick anymore. I still
Feel as if this is a nightmare I’ll wake up from, that
I’ll leave behind in a memory, eventually. Each
Blinding headache is really my head rolling off the
Pillow in my sleep. Every sharp stab of my back is
Me rolling over. Even the never ending sensation of
Burning agony that comes with taking my meds is just
Someone pinching me awake.
I don’t want to be sick anymore.