20140404-102932.jpg I am a warrior. This is my uniform. Syringes and gowns and gloves and masks and hardened eyes. I’m fighting every minute of every day. And you know what? I’m fucking tired. I think I have shellshock.

I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t have the strength. I don’t want to give up, but damn! I don’t think I can take anymore.

And then I feel like a big crybaby wuss, because I have it so much better than so many others and I shouldn’t complain. I should… I don’t know what I should do. I have no idea what to do anymore. I want to sleep in the trench. I want to hide in the fox hole. I want to splay myself on enemy lines and let the bullets rip me to shreds.

I wouldn’t have made a very good soldier.

So I am a lone warrior. I fight in an army of one, a lone gunman with rubber bullets and mock cannons.

I don’t know who I’m fighting anymore. The only thing I know for sure is why.

Because it’s life or death and I don’t plan on dying today.


Lather Rinse Repeat

I have another appointment with the liver transplant team today. I’m looking forward to having some of this pressure dissipated. I cannot even begin to express how exhausted I am from this perpetual panic I’ve been feeling for, I don’t know, months, years now? It’s really reached a fever pitch over the last few weeks. I’ve been unable to contain it. I cry anywhere and everywhere and it’s so humiliating.

I just want this to be over.

But it’s not going to be.


The only thing I’m sure of is that Dr. Renner is not going to say, “This was all a horrible mistake. You’re going to be fine. Here’s the last decade back.”

I don’t know what to hope for. A yes? A life-altering surgery that may or may not solve some of my health problems. I can’t write the words “might save my life” without tears and panic. I do not want to think about that. I can’t think about the enormity of it all.

On the other hand, what if it’s no? What the hell am I going to do?!?! I’m going to have to swallow it. Swallow it down and go on to my next appointment like the world hadn’t just stopped turning.

There’s no way to win with chronic illness. You fight and you fight and you fight for the best of the worst options. And you’re left bloody, bruised and broken and there’s barely time to catch your breath before the next fight begins.

I want out.