I can feel my illnesses. I can feel their symptoms all over my body. No, they are not just labels, not just letters on a page. I’m hurt, constantly hurt. The sad thing is that I can’t show you because it’s down to my bones. It’s something MRIs and X-rays can’t see. For you, seeing is believing and that logic is flawed. “A 20 year old is this sick? Impossible.” I can tell you what is really impossible, Me getting and holding down a job. What is really impossible is me finishing college, I know I have tried to twice. What is impossible is for me to have a hour free of pain. I haven’t had one of those since I was 13. I am telling you that this is real and it doesn’t want me to survive. I’m telling you that I am terrified because I don’t know what I am going to do when I turn 26. I’m telling you that I am angry because none of you will believe me and help me.
I am stuck inside my body. It tortures me with full force and I am surprised that I am still alive. I’m devastated, I don’t get to have a normal relationship, I don’t get to have my own children, and I don’t get to enjoy more then half of what life has to offer. When I do what others do, I can’t enjoy it due to not being able to eat, stand, or make money. My room has become my fortress. I hide myself there due to shame and embarrassment. What man wants to date someone who can’t be productive? What friends want to go home at 9pm on a friday? Hear me, I am suffering.