When you’re eleven and constantly in the hospital, you become depressed.
When you’re twelve and realize that the reason that you hate the hospital is that you can’t bear to listen to the faltering beep of another person’s heartbeat in the next room, you develop a specific form of sympathy.
When you’re twelve and you already know what’s eventually going to kill you, you’ve experienced one of the hardest things you will ever have to in your life.
When you’re thirteen just hoping to live to forty, your life seems just a little more valuable.
When you’re fourteen and realize that it’s too late to change anything, your life loses its value really fast.
Watching family members and friends with a disease you have and realizing that you will one day be them, or worse, is something I’d never wish on anyone. I’d rather just let what happens happen, without dreading the future. But i know too much now for that to be possible. This is not a vanity post, but a morose, truthful one that took me three years to finally post. Outwardly we’ll look fine, but inside we’re screaming from the pain. Too many of my friends and my family have been limited by different forms of the same disease. But I guarantee that no matter how hopeless the world seems, we’ll be the best fighters this generation has.