It’s been three years now, since I’ve come home. Since I left the war and that life behind me.

This past year has been the most trying for me yet.

I was diagnosed with Leukemia several months back. The revelation left me breathless. Here was my way out, without being a coward. I could just die. Be done with the misery.

But it turns out, I’m not that brave either. I started treatment, so terrified of a long, agonizing death as the cancer spreads through my body. Now my hair is falling out, and I’ve had to start wearing wigs, which makes me feel absolutely ridiculous. I puke all the time (which I already did, every fucking day, now just more so). I’m afraid to tell people, because I don’t want to have “that conversation” and am so tired of being this negative drain, so I’ve limited who I say shit to, but that leaves me even more fucked. People wonder why I have no energy. Why I am avoiding going out in public, am reluctant to hug or embrace them. One cold could kill me. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of having only negative experiences to share with others. It’s really fucking hard to be positive all the time. Or to have people talk like they understand. You don’t fucking understand. You never will. I appreciate your fucking sympathy, but it actually makes me feel like a fucking piece of shit.

Hope is fleeting.

Sometimes I wonder what evils I have done to deserve the things that have happened to me. My life has been one giant calamity after another. Sometimes I wonder how some people can skip through life so easily. How the stupidest things get them all fucked up because they need some drama in their lives. You can have my fucking drama. I want out.

I don’t have the energy to be anymore. Every step I take feels like someone just kicked me, tumbling, down the longest staircase. How can I ever be “normal” again?

I feel so alone. So isolated. So lost.

I still sometimes tell myself that I should give in. Give up. Get out. What quality there is, is infrequent and painful. Going out one night, means a week of extreme pain from the effort. But without that getting out, I would wither up and die.



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