They keep telling me I’m a blessing.

That I’m lucky to be alive.

That although I’m sick I’m blessed to be here every day.

I’m blessed to spend time with my kids.

And although people tell me this everyday like it is some sort of affirmation, I don’t feel blessed.

I don’t feel blessed when I walk to my car and my heart beats so hard and so fast that I feel like I’m the star of the movie Blow.

But I am always reminded at least my heart beats… a blessing.

I don’t feel blessed when my five-year-old rubs my back every day as I throw up every speck of food I ingest.

But at least I have food…. blessed.

I don’t feel blessed that I can no longer provide for myself financially because even getting dressed is a chore.

But at least I have people whose lives I can greatly burden with my illness…. blessing?

I don’t feel blessed when I hear my beautiful kids playing and I can’t drag my body out of bed to play with them.

But at least I have my hearing so I can listen…. blessing?

I’m often frustrated that I have to take 9-15 pills a day, as I throw up the sour taste of the meds.

I don’t feel blessed, but I’m told I am because I have access to health care.

I’m supposed to feel blessed when my angels fall asleep in the car, but I don’t because I’m 99% sure carrying them in the house will kill me.

All these blessings but everyday feels like hell.

I’m alive. I’m breathing. But I can’t touch any of the things that make me happy.

All these blessings and all I can think is that I’d trade all these blessings in for one last day.

Give them all up, just for one last day that I can feel normal.

That I wake up and I don’t want to scoop out my eye balls and pull out my brain just for a little relief.

That I wake up and feel energized. That I can cook my kids’ breakfast and smile and laugh.

That I live just one more day without this sickness.

I’ll trade all my blessings just for one day of no disease.

One day for my children to remember me laughing and hugging. Not vomiting. Not crying. Not laying on the floor asking them to quietly play around me because my head will explode.

I don’t want my blessings anymore.

They’re supposed to be some beautiful gift from God.

I can still see and hear all the things and people I love. But I cannot participate.

And somehow that’s a gift.

And I cannot be appreciative of them while they rob me of who I am.

I’m sick of this disease called a blessing.

 

I’m in an abusive relationship. It’s not a romantic one at least, not in the traditional sense of the word.

When I fell in love with her, she reminded me of a goddess. She was beautiful and kind. She never took no for an answer. She was unstoppable. She was an inspiration. To me and to everyone around her. She made me feel the highest high.

As time went on, I watched my goddess like creature slowly turn to stone. She suddenly became cold. She wanted me to stop caring about everything: my friends, my family, my hobbies, my career. She just wanted me to stay inside with her and listen to her. She wanted all my attention.

It started with bashing other people. Telling me why they didn’t deserve my time. She blanketed her insecurities by saying I was better than dealing with other people’s problems and to put myself first which really meant her and her illnesses.

Once I isolated myself from the people that I once would have laid my life down for, she turned it on me. There was no more self-love. Instead she instilled self-doubt. I wasn’t good enough to have friends and family, and love and happiness. I deserved her miserable and toxic company. All this emptiness was my fault and now I must live with it and her forever.

After she attacked my mind she started on my body. I had bruises everywhere. She’d trip me and push me into the walls. I was so sore and tired. I couldn’t eat. I lost so much weight.

All the confidence she once gave me was gone. I didn’t care anymore what I looked like. I didn’t do my makeup or change my clothes for days. Why should I? She is the only one who loved me and now she’s turned on me. I’ll stay in my sweat stained shirt forever. Maybe it will keep her away from me so I can be in peace.

It didn’t. Clothed or unclothed, it didn’t matter where I was, what time it was, or who I was with. She was always in my ear whispering about how much I’ve changed and how ashamed of me she was. Her presence made me vomit. She gave me headaches that lasted for days. I wanted to kill her.

I started to hate her. I hated her for making me hate myself. And every time I would get close to telling her to stay away from me forever, I would get flashbacks of that goddess. The girl who laughed in the face of fear. The girl who made me feel the best I’ve ever felt. I know she’s still there. I can’t give up on her.

When did she get so callous? Maybe if I can track down what triggered her abrupt change, I can help her get back to herself. What made her so abusive?

I need her to get back to who she really is. Who is she anyways? She is me. I am her. She is the reflection in the mirror that I refuse to look in the eye. She is my body before and after this disease. She is my greatest love and my mortal enemy. But can I live without her? How can I end this cycle? I can’t. I can’t walk away. I must continue to be destroyed and only hope that goddess will reappear. That her glow will radiate into my soul and warm me. That I can look at her and see love and not despair; that I can love this broken diseased soul that makes me who I am.