Congratulations. You won. You’ve ruined every guy who tries to hold me, who tries to care for me, every guy I meet, in fact.
His (insert eye color here) eyes are beautiful but I find myself only thinking of your color changing but mostly green eyes. The only way I could tell if you were actually happy sometimes.
I want so bad for his smile to captivate me the way it does with others but all I can think about is how his his dimples are different than yours and how he’ll never master a smirk quite the way you have.
As I lay my head on his bare chest, tracing my fingers over his body that make other women fall for him, I just think that it doesn’t feel quite right without rough, prickly chest hair rubbing against my soft face.
And how his muscular frame (though probably impressive) will never be able to make me feel safe like you did every time you enveloped me in your arms, how you held me like you never wanted to let go, like I was the piece that held you together.
But I guess I was wrong. I guess I didn’t hold you together. I guess I was just another warm body for you to hold at night when the dreams became too much and you didn’t want to be alone. I became the ambient to help you sleep, the Xanax to calm you down, the alcohol to help you forget. The problem is, anyone could fill these roles. But I made the mistake of thinking only I could, of thinking I was THAT special that only I could have that affect on you.
But I was wrong. In fact, it seems you were the one to have that affect on me. You were THAT special to me. Which means, you’ve ruined every other guy for me. Every guy who I actually could’ve meant something to, could’ve been special to.
and so you’ve won, yet again, as you’ve said you always do. you won.
"I have always been tough. I have a will like steel. I am the nail and the hammer that hits it. I am the wolf. The lion. The last one standing. I do not cry in public, complain when I am hurt, or give up. I push harder. I am a fighter.
But sickness? Sickness comes for you no matter how tough you are. I can try to ignore it, to push it away, but the truth is still there, hard and edgeless: I have lost something that cannot be recovered. There is something stubborn and unwelcome in my body, and it is stronger than my will.
My illness is not a death sentence, at least not an immediate one. If all goes well, I have a lot more years ahead. The struggle now is to accept the dichotomy: to be sick and still be whole. To be sick and still be tough. To be sick, and maybe even to be tougher than I was before.
Now I live side-by-side with the thing that hurts me. It is there when I laugh and kiss my boyfriend and write poetry. It is there when I take my pills, when my hair comes out in clumps, and when I can’t sleep from the pain. My sickness is there when I look in the mirror. It is not all that I am, but it is an inexorable part of me. I am finally beginning to accept that. Which is to say, I am learning to accept the world in all of its contradictions and live as best I can within them.””
This woman truly gets life in ways that a lot of other people don’t. And seeing her express her feelings about living with a chronic illness is so comforting.