A Distant and Almost Sweet Memory

The end of normalcy and at the beginning of what felt like the end is where this entry starts. It was two-months after my diagnoses. I was confused and angry. I didn’t know what to do or what to expect. I just knew that life wouldn’t be the same.

Looking back at my 20-year-old self, I wish I could tell her things would be all right. I’d let her know that the road would be difficult, but it’s not anything she couldn’t overcome. Have patience and realize one day this would be a distant, almost sweet memory of what made you strong and shaped who you are today.

Flashback – April 19, 2009


I sit here thinking of how things used to be.
I sit here thinking why you did this to me.

I’m paralyzed. I’m numb. I can’t move.
The world is moving, yet silent and still I stand.
I’m stuck in this moment, waiting to wake up and find its only a nightmare.
I’m hurt. I’m broken. I can’t pull myself together.
My body is convulsing. My eyes rolled back.

My teeth begin to shake. My lungs begin to collapse.
In my mind, I’m merely dreaming, but my body is seizing.
Minutes and minutes pass. My condition does not change.
Awaking to blurred vision, I cannot recognize a single thing.
Tears begin to form. Fear strikes my heart.
Why is there a man with an oxygen tank?
What are those sounds and bright lights?

The ambulance is cold. The ER is frigid.
Monitors are connected to my arm.
Blood is drawn from my veins.

Hospital. Doctor. MRI. EEG. Pill. Appointment.
The doctors are concerned.

I cannot speak. My tongue is severely bitten, swollen.
The cycle begins again.

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