One in a Thousand.


I’m a little lost, two years down the line and I still don’t think I’ve grasped the concept of having something for life. I mean, sure, we’ve all thought about finding your soul mate and spending your life with them. Or getting a tattoo and having it blend into how you define yourself. These are the things you want, the things you search for, but when something is forced upon you, and you have no say in the matter, it is a completely different story. I’m trying to find the words to explain what it is like to have a doctor tell you that you have an illness, a disease, something that will effect your daily life for as long as you dare to imagine that life will last. It infects you, the thought that it is lurking, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. In your joints, in your bones, in your mind. You wonder if that is what will define you. If people think of you and think of it. I’m struggling with the concept of being on drugs for the rest of my life also. It feels so completely unnatural to force a man-made chemical down my throat every day, just trusting the ‘specialists’ word that this is the best drug for me. As if they know me. As if they think of me as something other than a statistic, I’m 1 in a 1000. That’s all I am. nothing special, just another number. But I think they forget that this is the only body I’m ever going to have, I don’t get a second chance at any of this, and if all we boil down to is numbers then I’m gonna be 100% sure I squeeze every ounce of knowledge out of every specialist, every doctor, every blogger, every nurse, every patient I come across.  I will work out the real statistics, from the real people that matter. I will sign up to every medical research trial,  give blood at every blood test,  try every insane, unorthodox ‘cure’ that there is. But I won’t give up. Not until that day I dared imagine comes along.