I have been ripped from the life I was building for myself once again. The dreams, the places I was getting to know, the people I was meeting, the future I was walking towards are gone.
My own body is fighting me. And my brain often times does not work. Without my brain, and ideas and dreams, who am I?
For my mother always described me as a Tsunami. Try to stop a Tsunami, is how she'd describe me when I'd had an idea. These days I feel like little more than a puddle.
These days are also the days that I unexpectedly get to spend months with my family. I get to go to my brother's graduation. I'm not halfway across the continent.
These days I get to enjoy my mother's cooking. I get to tell her more about out who I've become. And I find out about her.
These days my father, who has never been good with words, and who never actually wanted children, offers to pay for my motorcycle license once I feel better. If it helps, he says, I'll gladly pay for it.
These days, when my legs shake and I can suddenly barely walk, my dad will grab me. Hold me up. And pretend to dance with me through the living room.
These days I will be laughing so hard I cry. Instead of bawling my eyes out.
I do that too, sometimes. Because it's. Not. Fair.
But these days, and these moments would've never happened were I not sick.
It'll get better. And even if it doesn't, I can still make a happy life for myself