No More

This is not a life. I keep counting the moments that I’m wasting- mentally tracing the outlines of plans that I have for myself that grow more into distant dreams. I watch my roommates scurry around the house and leave traces of their happy, busy selves behind. I do their dishes, dry swallow pain pills and go back to my room to think, dwell, cry, alone with my pain.
My body is confused, tired, sick. It hurts all the time and it feels weak and defensive when I try to make it get up and live. It feels alien to me. I don’t know how I’ll feel each morning when I wake up. I don’t know what sort of discomfort I’ll have for the rest of the day, or how I’ll be able to cope with it. Every day, I wake up sick, and I go to bed sick.
I tried, for a while, to keep being me, but it’s too hard. It’s too hard to drag a sick body to class and do college things and force it to do things it doesn’t want to do. I’m an outline of a person now. I am the things that Summer wanted in a body that won’t move, or live, or feel. This is not a life, anymore.

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