Metamorphic Sickness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
A look into my story and my battle to survive.

Submitted: August 15, 2014

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Submitted: August 15, 2014

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Hello dear, wonderful, stranger.

I'd tell you my name but I'm not sure it's important. I'd like to tell you my story; one not of great interest, but rather a story full of lessons.

I was told that my birth was welcomed by rain and thunder. A birth and a deluge of emotion that would carry over me my entire life.

When you think about the rain, do you think of happiness or sadness? I think of sadness. The gray skies that hide the beauty of nature and the rains that bring life to earth. And as this life-bringing rain washes down, a melancholic mood sets upon me. 

I've been cursed with a sickness. One that changes forms and never leaves. One that inflicts constant pain. A metamorphic disease that over time split into two and then three and then four; each resting in one place while the last continues to reshape itself. The sickness created limitations that built up brick by brick to form a wall. When I was young I used to play on the wall. I could jump over it and explore the vast nothingness of open space. I could sit atop it and watch the sun set over fields of grass.  But those days are gone. The wall has become so high that I can no longer see it's top. When I look around me now the wall transforms and encloses me, leaving only a small hole at the top and all I see are those bleak gray clouds that welcomed me to earth. 

I met a girl. She seemed to glow in orange. Where my entrance to this world was welcomed by doleful rain, hers was showered by sunlight. She had no walls, only open space and a determination to see it all. I hated her. And I loved her. And everything in between. She broke my heart of course, but with the pain she left a pick. A pick that for a long time I looked at with disgust - it only brought me pain. In the end I forgave her, and I forgave myself. 

One day in a bout of anger I picked up the pick and hit the wall. A small rock fell and grazed my cheek. It hurt. But I felt a different kind of pain. A pain that led to joy.

I've been picking at the wall for years. A constant battle between me and a disease that wants nothing but to see me fall.

I think I'm going to win.


© Copyright 2019 Salia Somynon. All rights reserved.

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