i hate doing this, i am not the diary-type but sometimes life
it started with the exhaustion, my sleep was left empty as an autumn nest. i, perpetually fearful of being seen as anything less than genuine, perpetually attempting to avoid overreaction- ignored it. the bruising came next, rising purple on my knees and elbows. i was husked by four p.m., comatose and unable to do
just about anything.
they told me that i looked different, they told me to take some
responsibility for myself [a fatal flaw, i'm sure] and i smiled while she drew my blood, i did not smile when the results took over a week. i should have been suspicious when they wouldn't tell me over the phone. levels were off, the platelets sparse, white and red cells weak- my blood was too dry. i imagined my veins as a thirsty desert floor. anemia, simple, she smiled when she took more samples. she did not smile when it took ten minutes for me to clot.
i felt like a scolded child, sitting, once again in that office. my platelets, tiny red patches, tiny bits of glue weren't sticking. i was draining under my skin. more bruises in the strangest of places [between my fingers, in the crease of my shoulder blade. i was misshapen inside, the reality that my body might not be
slight traumas that had never occurred laid their purple-black hands on me. ["i've
called a hematologist on the west side, 9 a.m. tomorrow"] i smiled when she handed me the paper, i did not smile when i read it.
the doctor spent the first twenty minutes recommending that i eat more yogurt before telling me that my hormones were buzzing like angry bees or trapped window flies. not enough thyroid, too much pituitary. too high, too low, my capillaries must have looked like roller coasters. she dug for five minutes in my arm trying for more blood [jokes on
you, i am dry inside]
my results will be in before tomorrow. any minute i will know the truth. i smiled when i shook her hand, i did not smile when i needed to rest before walking to the subway.
i drink my coffee extra hard today, i smoke my cigarette as if i mean it. i tempt the universe. today, i want to overreact, i want to be dramatic. i have spent four years forcing positive thinking down my own throat but today, i want to overreact; i think i fucking deserve it. let the anxieties take center stage and throw their bloated bodies all around, i am scared. i am scared of my mortality. now, now it is suddenly more tangible than my unzipped wrist[i can't help but wonder if this is my fault, if i bled myself too suddenly on the bathroom floor all those years ago].
lamotrigine was my saving grace, my empty bullet. i now press my [bruised, still. exhausted, still] fingertips to spell out [lamotrigine bruising. hypothyroidism.
into the search engine and i read message boards of people who casually type about the organs they've lost [my kidneys are shot, my liver's given up, i blew out my pituitary like an old tire]
my bones hurt, i could drink an entire ocean and still not quench my thirst, i fall asleep at mexican bars. lymph node swollen out like a balloon. this is not about another pill, this is about accepting that my saving grace could be ruining me. i've been fighting bipolar disorder for so long and this is about the possibility that it still might win [well played, you son of a
i cannot stop atrophy. i am twenty one years old, i do not want to be on dialysis. i am twenty one years old, i do not want to think[on the L train, drunk at 3:17 a.m.] what it would be like to go blind. i do not want to wonder [in all seriousness] what leukemia feels like.
i feel betrayed by lamotrigine, i feel cheated on with morality. Beethoven wrote symphonies he would never hear- i still want to hear mine. i've been telling you all, for years, that life just isn't fair and it's okay but today, it's not. today it is not fair and it is not okay. i fear it has started, the grand decline. i quiet cried [just a bit] in my exam yesterday and i smiled when i turned it in. i did not smile when i typed this.