and other natural flavors

How long have I wondered how much more I can take?  One year?  Five?  Ten?  At ten years old, the idea of making it to 18 was ludicrous; I was certain I would have killed myself by then.  The despair and pain was always so overwhelming that I didn’t think there was any way I could bear it very long.

Each year, the despair and pain only grow stronger.  And yet it has still not become unbearable.  How much abuse can the human spirit take? 

I admit, my will is weakening.  In the face of these days of pain and fear, I am an utter coward.  The idea of living through the summer is as ludicrous as the idea of making it to my 18th birthday was ten years ago.  But I know I will.  Because, for whatever reason, I am stronger than I think I am.

What is my strength?  I have watched others fall earlier than myself.  Obviously, then, it is not that I have strength, but that my disease is weak.  Yet I have never felt it to be that way.  Every day is a struggle in self preservation.  Each moment of consciousness is one in which I contemplate my surrender, my inevitable demise.  I have never thought that this opponent could be beaten, only held back. 

"I tried so hard, and got so far, and in the end, it never even mattered."

It isn’t going to matter.