sickness

I Went Outside. Sort of.

I could see all kinds of things that I had missed when I was stuck in my bed. I could feel the breeze swirling around me; I could see hummingbirds buzzing around a tree branch above the roof. I didn’t realize it until later, but it was the first time I had been outside in two years.

Happiness is . . .

The entire time I’ve been sick I’ve wanted to be that person — the person who brings tears of joy to dry eyes, the person who makes people believe in happy endings and the body’s astonishing ability to heal itself. I wanted to be that person so bad, perhaps even more than I wanted to merely do things that healthy people do. And to a certain extent I have become that person, or rather, I was that person and now I’m having a bit of an identity crisis. What happens when you are known for battling illness, then stop recovering?

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