Sunday, March 30, 2014

You're Just So Pretty

"You're so young," they tell me as I give them the news.
Like it isn't possible, like it negates the fact that it's happening.

I take a moment to put on the smile.  You know, that smile that says it's okay.
The one that says, "Hey it's no big deal, I'm tough." That one.  The one that puts them at ease.
Then they really lay it down, "But you're pretty."
As if pretty means that it is all okay.
As if pretty protects me from the pain.
As if pretty keeps me from throwing up in that little plastic bag at the hospital over and Over and OVER,
because the medication that's suppose to HELP me only makes me more sick.

"You look like Snow White" they say.  Like it's supposed to make me feel better.
Like being pale as a result of the poison pulsing through my veins is a good thing.
At least you look like a princess.  Little do they know, I am a princess caught in a prison cell.  I am stuck within my own house, within my own body fighting to get out. 
The plot twist, the villain is me.  As these cells divide and multiply, the very pieces of me that give my life bring me closer to death.  As these cell blocks are building on themselves, they are tearing the rest of me down.  I am screaming in pain, silently, every bone in my body, my muscles dying to get out. 

"You're just so thin. I wish I could look like you."  Do you?  Do you really wish that you could fight this battle.  This battle between good and evil.  This civil war with yourself?  Waking up throughout the night, being unable to move as the pain slowly climbs through your veins. 
It starts by slowly creeping up your spine and through your stomach, spreading into your fingers.  It starts as physical pain, but soon twists its way into your thoughts; writhing and gnawing at you, telling you, "you have no purpose, give in, give up, you're dying…" Ah, but then, this is what you wanted right?  This is the desired effect.  You're young, you're pretty, you're thin."  This is what they've always told us we wanted.  This is what I've always been told that I needed to be. 

"You're just so pretty," they tell me.  Again, I put on the smile and fade away.

1 comment:

  1. Michaela, I'm a colleague of your parents at WIU-QC and just heard about this blog from another prof. While so far I've only had the chance to read the last several of your postings, I'm tremendously impressed by your writing ability, but even more by the combination of wit, brutal honesty, resolve, and wisdom evident here. I'm sure you don't feel so strong all the time, and I'm also sure there are no words sufficient to calling this disease what it is. Still, if it's any encouragement to hear from a total stranger who hasn't had to fight anything on this scale, count me a fan. Everett Hamner