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qualityOV3Rquantity
Member
- Jul 27, 2024
- 82
I'm smart, I'm good-looking, I had a lot of potential. I have a good work ethic, I can make people laugh. I'm not trying to be arrogant, but I feel these things are true.
That's why it's even more painful to live with this chronic illness, that I developed for no reason besides bad luck. I could have gotten married, had a family, been a good father. I could have had a good, fulfilling career. But instead I live in a black pit of depression and pain, with my intestines squirming like a snake stuck inside my body. Half the time I stand up after sitting, I almost black out. My hands and wrists have shooting nerve pain.
And I'm sentenced to live for decades longer, as the person I am and the person I could have been grow ever further apart. The hope I feel sometimes about recovery is just a cruel trick played by my animal nature, which wants to stay alive despite intolerable living circumstances.
All the anxiety and hopelessness I felt in the past, before my diagnosis, was justified. The worst possible thing I could have imagined came true.
I want it to be over, but I'm not nearly depressed enough to ever take the step toward suicide. God, please either heal my infirmities or make my situation exponentially worse so that I'm driven into the arms of death by the pain. Please don't let me wither and rot in this purgatory between life and death, where every day seems unbearable.
That's why it's even more painful to live with this chronic illness, that I developed for no reason besides bad luck. I could have gotten married, had a family, been a good father. I could have had a good, fulfilling career. But instead I live in a black pit of depression and pain, with my intestines squirming like a snake stuck inside my body. Half the time I stand up after sitting, I almost black out. My hands and wrists have shooting nerve pain.
And I'm sentenced to live for decades longer, as the person I am and the person I could have been grow ever further apart. The hope I feel sometimes about recovery is just a cruel trick played by my animal nature, which wants to stay alive despite intolerable living circumstances.
All the anxiety and hopelessness I felt in the past, before my diagnosis, was justified. The worst possible thing I could have imagined came true.
I want it to be over, but I'm not nearly depressed enough to ever take the step toward suicide. God, please either heal my infirmities or make my situation exponentially worse so that I'm driven into the arms of death by the pain. Please don't let me wither and rot in this purgatory between life and death, where every day seems unbearable.