DITCHTOMY
Transcribed:
The older I get the harder it becomes.
I was told it was supposed to get easier- grief and all the strange ways that she works: staying around like a bad cold, making my nose run and my chest work for every breath.
Yet I never seem to get rid of that bad cough, my sore throat that stings when I try to speak of you. I seem to forget more and more of the wrong things, like I can remember how good it feels to take medicine but I can never remember where I put it- or how much to take, or what color the bottle is…
It's so hard to admit, and I wish I was just stubborn. Blame my immune system, the cold rainy weather of winter in the city, anything but myself. Of forgetting everything then snapping back as I sniffle. The sickness that keeps me in bed for hours and hours and that plagues my head as I put on a mask and try to get through my day with foggy thoughts.
My body heats itself from the inside and burns at my skin, and I know that I am sick- I can feel it as intensely as that first night, waking up in a cold sweat.
I can feel it…
But, I can't remember how I got here. I can't remember a time when I wasn't sick- where warm honey tea wasn't the only comfort, where I could think about you in any clarity.
I got sick at such a young age, I have grown accustomed to the dread pulling at my bones, I have lived this long-
Why isn't it easier?
They told me it would get easier with age- but being this sick as an adult is worse. I can't crawl into that huge bed, feeling so small between you both, comforted by the hugs and smells. I can't sit on the edge while you get ready for work, talking about school and my favorite shows. I can’t run to someone else, welcomed with unconditional love that wraps me up in a blanket and sings to me, that kisses my red nose and wet eyes.
I am alone, sitting in my tiny apartment- shivering and wishing I could hide in my empty fridge, wishing I could remember where that fucking medicine is.
Instead, curled into a ball I can only miss being healthy.
I miss taking deep breaths in healthy lungs, in quiet thoughts, in soothing warmth that moves over my body like water. I miss not knowing any better, being only barely aware of who grief was or who we would become together.