Awareness
Why, oh why am I always itching? It's an allergy says the doctor but he doesn't know how to cure me. He shrugs and says it gets better when I'm older.
How many more nights of no sleep from the itching and pain does that take? Another 1000 or maybe another 10,000?
The doctor doesn't know and laughs. He can always smile but I can't anymore. I am tired after the endless night of pain. I start the day exhausted. Back to school, doing chores again, being laughed at again.
Nobody finds me attractive or interesting. It is only the outside that everyone sees, the outside is not representative and smells. That's how others see me, a failed mural, definitely not wall art.
When can that connection be removed? I smell like a mummy.
The night is endless and painful. "Stop scratching I can't sleep like this," my sister complains, "I can't bear you around me any longer!"
It hurts eczema. It itches, it burns, it stings, it's inflamed and it stinks.
I am not my reflection. I am the hunted animal, the shot game. I am being sacrificed, skinned alive. Bird free. The hunt is on. Is it my own fault? Not an ounce of empathy for the ugly, for those who don't look like the average person.
Is it the native food, the first cup of coffee, or the legacy of the bad-DNA family? The family that doesn't mind and says there's no place for drama queens.
You cost us enough money already, my mother says, I wish you didn't exist. Her face is an open book and I see the disapproving look on her face that charms everyone but me. She throws that first cup of coffee in my face and it won't be the last she throws at me.
I hate your face and would rather never see you again, she snaps.
The awareness of being different is bad enough. Living with pain is not a choice but a fact. It's not the dog, the house, the disinterested doctor, the bullies at school, or my family that don't want to be confronted with me, but everything together that triggers. I wish I could leave like my father.
I'm going, he said, and he grabbed his suitcase and went down the stairs.
Ok, I said, I'm going with you.
No, he said, I'll come to get you later, take care of your mother, and he closed the front door behind him.
He drove off in Grandpa's Mercedes and left me to do what he couldn't, take care of my crazy mother. What parent would say such a thing to a sick child?
Today it's dad's birthday and it should have been mine too. I think I should have been his birthday present instead I spoiled my mother's birthday so she didn't receive a present from dad except for a hastily bought umbrella. She hates it and hates me.
October 9, 2022
It’s very sad when you get to know them your own mother is against you and even wished you never exist all because of your disease 😔😔💔💔💔😔😔😔