When I Go.

Imagine the breath being pulled from your lungs so fast that you have neither the time nor the perception to notice. You struggle to pull it back when you notice the lights fading fast and the voices grow dim. You’re fighting so hard but you’re on the losing end. Imagine waking up in the hospital, disoriented and hurt, everything hurts. The doctors come in, you already know your prognosis but it’s worse, it’s so much worse because your body is dying at double the rate they told you it would. You’re in misery. Every night, for what’s left of your life, you feel your heartbeat hammering away as you think about the look on your parents faces as they’re told, how your siblings and best friends will react. Death is a constant companion of the dying, and his hand is at your throat, every hour of the day. You feel it and every day the grip tightens by a fraction. You stop sleeping in eight hour intervals and you can’t eat salt, or sugar, eventually it’s so constricted you have no appetite for anything. The medications outnumber your dietary restrictions. The pain is unbearable and you carry it with you everywhere.

Don’t you ever tell me that I am not strong after what I have gone through and for what I continuously go through. I carry my burdens with me always.