Sick

I have been sick since for nearly as long as I can remember. Not the 'lets have a Telethon sick'. Not the kind of sick that emotes sympathy or has someone saying that maybe you should take a couple days off of work. I can't take chemotherapy or radiation to rid myself of it, but everyday it eats away at me just like cancer. My sickness is terminal and will kill me if I don't put it into remission. Right now the 1200 mg of lithium I take a day keeps the demons at bay and stops me from pressing hard enough on the knife that some day might hit something vital.

My sickness usually evokes the opposite of a physical illness. I become miserable, intolerable, and drive away my friends and family. Even my husband of 4 years, Paul, becomes tired of it. Without the visible gaping wound, the hairless head, the prosthetic leg, my sickness just becomes an irritant to those around me.

I don't blame them. When out of remission I also hate myself. I don't want to be around me either. I know I am ugly and viscous. I know I am mean, but I am unable to control it, anymore that a diabetic is able to control their blood sugar.

Luckily over time I have begun to see the precursors to falling into the pit. I can feel the sandpaper on my brain and begin the preemptive first aid to healing my mind.

I am tired. I am tired of fighting, and tired of hearing every whisper in my mind telling me I would be better off gone.

I am mostly tired of hurting my family. I am tired of my poor little girls thinking that the flaw is in them.

What terrifies me is I know this disease is heriditary.

What if they turn out like me?

I will take every whisper, every bad day, every thought of suicide, as long as it saves them.