When there’s a problem, I fix it and it’s fixed. Sometimes you have to compromise. Sometimes people dislike what the solution is, but there IS a solution. The solution can’t be “no solution.” When there’s a real problem, there’s a real solution. A fix. A repair. A light at the end of the tunnel, even if it’s a little dimmer than people would like. But this isn’t like that. It’s a coming and going and mistrial after mistrial and I keep giving things up and trying this and that but it feels like it doesn’t matter. I am a bystander strapped behind a glass wall watching things happen to my body that I have no control over. I get tired. I don’t want to take meds that aren’t natural and introduce a chemical to my body for it to function right.
I sometimes wonder why I was the sperm that made it. People are out there living normal lives with no idea what might be lurking. I always felt an undeserved sense of pride when I thought of my health before, like people who are sick could have done something to prevent it. Now I want to look back on that and kick my own ass, and tell myself to eat more ice cream and cottage cheese because I’ll never have that again. Save some money and travel and experience life while you’re still normal and not fucked up and looking for the bathroom the moment you step into any building, hoping no one else is in there so you can be alone with your misery. People take it for granted. I take it for granted when I’m just “pretty well, considering.” But when I start to sink I remember; there was a time when I welcomed death every morning. Not that I would seek it, but I had the thought that if it found me, it’d be a reprieve and a blessing.
I heard someone say that they thought their body was trying to give them a break at those moments they felt good. I was surprised by that. I’ve always felt angry with my body, like it’s turned against me and it could fix this thing, turn it around and make me normal again. I don’t know which is true. I guess it’s just a bunch of parts that, for some mysterious reason, don’t work right together. I guess it doesn’t matter. I won’t come up with a solution. But the moment I start that sinking feeling, the fear creeps in and I wish I wasn’t the one that made it. And I wonder who all you would be without me. Was the creation of my life worth the humiliation and pain?