The Worst Thing

What is the worst thing in the world that can happen to you? What’s the end-all be-all for a person? Is it death?

I started watching The Vampire Diaries recently, don’t judge me. I was looking for something new and I found a show that I’ve wanted to watch so I did, don’t judge me.

There are these vampires running around this town sucking blood, killing people. But when there’s a person who gets into an accident, or crosses paths with the wrong vampire, the first instinct of our main characters is to save their lives, rightfully so. And the way to do that, the only way to bring someone back from the edge of death, is to turn them into a vampire. So they do that.

They all think that dying is the worst thing in the world. That living a life, even if it’s eternal and flawed, is way better than being dead.

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Functioning With Forever

Almost two weeks ago, on July 8, I celebrated sixteen years of being in remission for my leukemia. That’s something I’m immensely grateful for and something that blows my mind. It’s been such a long time and my family didn’t think I’d make it this far, so I’m proud that I get to celebrate it. But it’s something I struggle with everyday.

If you look up the word survivor, it states the obvious and says “a person or thing that survives.” The definition more fitting for me is “a person who continues to function or prosper in spite of opposition, hardship, or setbacks.” I think for a really long time after my thyroid cancer, when I was just a person who had survived and was too young to understand all the consequences, I was prospering. I was bragging about my story, and proud of myself for surviving. I considered myself brave, strong, a fighter. But in the past couple years, especially in the past year, I feel like I’m just functioning. I’m living despite the opposition, hardship, and setbacks. But I don’t feel like I’m prospering anymore.

I’m realizing things I didn’t understand when I was younger. I’m feeling emotions I don’t think I ever really processed. I think I was too busy fighting the disease that I never felt it. And now I’m feeling it all.

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Life Really Sucks Sometimes

Have you every felt utterly ashamed of something about you? Something you did? Something you regret not doing? Just something in your life? I’m most ashamed of the thing I’m supposed to be most proud of. I’m ashamed of my medical history. I’m ashamed that I had cancer.

Isn’t that ironic? Aren’t I supposed to be proud that I beat cancer three freaking times and I’m alive and thriving? Aren’t I supposed to be proud that I have made it this far in life and am this successful? But instead I’m utterly ashamed, and that’s just plain sad and pathetic.

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I Lived

I am sitting in a dark room surrounded by twenty-five kids. We are freshmen, adjusting to high school and sitting through boring classes. The biology teacher rambles on about the human body, diseases, anatomy. It’s interesting, but I would rather be home.

She mentions cystic fibrosis, a disease affecting the respiratory system and blocking one’s lungs. We take some notes; mine look like a rainbow, in different pen colors so as to keep me interested. Then, she mentions a video she would like to show us. A music video. The song is by OneRepublic and it features a young man who has cystic fibrosis and lives with it. But doesn’t just live with it. He pushes his disability and his life to the limits. He’s happy.

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The One Who Taught Me Strength

My grandmother relaxes in her black chair in the corner of her living room. I sit on the floor in front of her, massaging her feet with lotion, keeping them look as young as they do. Her feet are small, tender, strong. They’ve carried the load of years of hard work. They’ve held up her body even when Parkinson’s tried to bring it down. They were present when each child left the house and when each grandchild entered. They danced at parties; they sat crossed in prayer. And now her seventy-year-old feet are in my seventeen-year-old hands.

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Purple

I am red with rage.

I will shatter glass and break boards.

I will claw and pound at the doors until they let me out.

I will scream until my lungs are empty.

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