I Want To Be Well

"Have you guys heard the story about the girl who cheated on her boyfriend because-"

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"You have GOT to try this new hack to-"

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"Do you know how CGRPs work? Let me teach you how."

Ah. Finally, something interesting. Relatable.

The video hiccups. Something has interrupted it. It isn't a jarring sound or a blinding vision. It's something I can't quite name. Something so dreadfully heavy, I wonder if it is gravity itself. Come. It calls to me. The undigested food I'd eaten 5 hours ago threatens to reveal itself. But my heart. My heart seems to trust this thing. Not trust in this thing. Just trust that it is here, as it should be. Almost like it has been waiting for it. Without me.

My legs, still numb from sitting too long on the couch, lift me begrudingly. I can feel all the blood diving to my legs, dizzying my head that didn't have a chance to grasp what was happening. I try to grab a hold of the side of the couch, my pale fingertips clutching at nothing. I throw my hands in front of me to brace my fall when IT catches me. I've got you now. The smell of it makes me wince. Old cat vomit mixed with sewage. Not like death. A scent closer to the moments before it.

My eyes jut upward and some of it begins materializing. The teeth form the hooks of Velcro while the lips form the loop. Neither meets.

Something isn't right, I tell myself. You knew this all along. IT tells me. ITS breath is sharp like lemon zest and peppercorn in my nose.

IT grabs my wrists and slithers. Come, once again. Why are you fighting this? My heart whispers. I refuse to believe my heart knows this beast and still wants me to trust it. My head is stinging, agitated - a migraine brewing at my occipitals. The smell of sewage becomes stronger. Maybe if I cooperate, I can make sense of this.

Shakily, I stand, with IT assisting me. It has not fully materialized, but something glints in the amber light bathing the house as ITs head turns. When did the sun start setting? How long has IT had me?

We travel down a hallway that looks unfamiliar. The walls are almost convex, bloated, gluttonous. A door with fragmented shards of glass stands before us. It has no handle, no hinges, no frame. We begin to float through it as if neither of us exists, but my breath catches on a jagged edge making me cough uncontrollably.

The room is circular. There are no distinguishable walls. No corners. It almost feels never-ending.

Caramel-colored frames litter the room. Frames with hazy pictures of...me. My breathing steadies, or maybe it stops. I can't tell the difference here.

My eyes gloss over the pictures illuminated by a light source dancing over each shard of the door; they begin to morph. Each of them.

In one photo, I am joyful, my smile nearly ripping my face in half. Until my eyes bounce around quickly and the photo turns into: me, grieving a joy I know I won't feel again. In one photo, I am standing with a lover at the edge of a lake, love brimming from our kiss. In the next second, I am alone, contemplating how soft the bottom might feel and how soft it felt for them.

Then.

My eyes discover a round photo. It snaps me into awareness. I haven't taken a breath since I stopped coughing. I gasp with such intensity, I am sure I've taken up the rest of the stale air in the room.

In this photo, I'm in the kitchen of my apartment, which I moved into almost a year ago. My heavy eyes lock in now. The light settles. The room inhales.

Behind me sits a spice rack: garlic powder, onion powder, nutmeg, paprika, salt. My eyes look different. It's as if I can see the sunlight through them. My cheekbones are covered with more skin. My hair is thicker. Present. The pill cutter I bought that I keep tucked between the salt and paprika isn't there. I feel my temples pulsing. Look slowly. It says.

My eyes fall gently to the stove. Something fried. Probably tofu. Something slippery. Something that my body knew as comfort. Something I can't swallow anymore. Something that my stomach gave up digesting. Something that my body only knows now as ache. Something bitter and dreadful. Vomit for hours, pain for days, flares for months, all over this damn tofu. Anger. So much anger that shows up on blood tests as "abnormal", "intermediate", "positive". It squeezes my lungs at night; it's got to be the anger doing it.

My eyes slowly scan my entire face. No drooping. No deep indentations. No eternal worry. Eyes clear, bright, white, hopeful, and then I notice it. In my pupil. My partner's reflection. Gleaming. Excited. Ready. I don't need to wait until this photo morphs to know how that ends.

Hot tears start to froth at the rims in my eyes as I turn away from the wall. I see the thing staring back at me, fully materialized now. I can barely form a feeling for what I see. It's as if all I can feel is anger.

The thing has all my features, but they are all...warped. The skin hangs like parchment paper around its bones. The shoulders, weighted, forward-facing. The cheekbones, reaching for the sky. All is warped except the eyes - clear, bright, white, hopeful.

My face scrunches, the pain in my head explodes. Rage melts my ribs. "I don't understand...I don't understand who you are. I-" I have to pause. I am still breathless from earlier. The thing begins to speak.

"I won't say I am you. But I'm a version of you you won't accept." I shake my head furiously. Snot pouring from my nose.

"No, you don't get to tell me who I am or who I'll be. I am NOTHING like you. I'm getting better. I can get better. They said it was manageable through my diet-" my words trail off. I inhale sharply. And realization sends shockwaves through my body. "My diet. My diet that I can't even eat without wanting to vomit. The medication that helps one thing but hurts another. I don't remember the last time I felt like anything beides a waking medicine cabinet. Oh!" I wail, "but I don't want to be you. Please. Anyone but you." My fatigued legs give way.

The thing meets me on the floor, which has morphed into something soft. Almost like jello, but firm enough to know you won't fall through. The haunting stench of IT isn't gone, but is softer now. Not tinging my nose hairs anymore, but still present enough for me to notice. I look up. Teeth. Chapped lips. Hopeful eyes.

"I am telling you that I am the version of you you aren't accepting. I am telling you there are multitudes of possibilities. But you can't keep shutting me out, pretending I don't exist."

"I just don't want to be sick anymore!" I wail.

"I know. I know." I say. Holding myself. Wiping my tears. Rocking my body, trying to rid myself of all my fears of a destination I may never reach. Facing the ugly end of things. Remembering that even in this putrid face, there is hope. Remembering that hope does not have to die before you do. It can hold your hand through the inevitable journey to the afterlife.