A declaration in many acts

ACT ONE
I am not a hypochondriac! I am not! I am not! I AM NOT! Every ounce of my being resonates with your utterances. Your neglect. Your cruel, heartless, uncaring, wound making, life altering, slashes of disregard. You are just wanting attention." "You are such a hypochondriac." You are over exaggerating." "Nothing is wrong with you." "It is all in your head." These statements have made me who I am today. They are the DNA that define me. AND IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT! My parents that float between hell and heaven. Can you hear me? Can you finally hear what I am saying? Now that you hover above my soul in your limbo. Can you finally understand my pain? Can you see me slowly change the very cells of my body from your disillusioned hell to my absolute reality?

BECAUSE I AM NOT A FUCKING HYPOCHONDRIAC! I WAS SICK! I AM SICK! AND MOST OF IT IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Flash back: Last year around this time. I was in the hospital for five long days. I couldn't breath. In the most honest way possible it was months building to that point. Perhaps if I had only given into it all in the beginning and got checked out I could have avoided it all together. But wait. That would have required a bit more cleansing of the tainted blood in my veins. So instead I stalled. I excused. I masked the reality of exactly how much I couldn't breath. Till, after three prior trips to the emergency room for breathing treatments, they finally could not open me up. So up to the respiratory floor I went. With breathing treatments every four hours and after every meal and a slow drip of steroids to keep my lungs inflated.

Nothing was helping. Until I realized that my attacks came on strong after each and every meal. So the Doc had my stomach and gut checked out. Lucky me! Add to really fucked up lungs one huge GERD problem. I was breathing in my own stomach juices. "Hows a little acid with that chemical laden air sound to you?" So now that we had even more added to my cart of life they send me home with a load of meds that kept me busy every hour. Puff 1. Swallow 2. Puff 3. Swallow 4. Breathing machine 5. No energy 6. Can't walk across the room without loosing my breath 7. Be sure to take the steroids AFTER I drive the child to school (because if not we could end up in the ditch) 8. Worry about my health 9. Wonder if my life would be any different if my parents ever listened to me A REAL BIG FUCKING 10.

Back to the present: It has all been coming back. The no breathing. The insane illness. The tiredness. The monster sinus headaches. The ear infections. The stomach aches. The lack of hunger. The other things that are just too gross to print. But this time. Oh this time. My DNA has been restructured. Out with the old and in with the new. As I ignore the echoes that reverberate from my past I make my appointments. All five specialists called and set in stone. And, dammit, I will see these doctors and we will dig to the bottom of this hell hole. We will uncover the ugly truth and we will set it free. And with its freedom I will have my recovery. And with my recovery I will have my freedom.