I can only beat a dead horse for so long before the horse no longer resembles what it once was.
I'm sick.
It sucks.
Repeat.
I'm still breathing, still asymptotic, so I suppose that's good. It just doesn't make for good writing material.
During my time away from notating my slow progression towards the light, I've had a chance be an observer. When I go to my doctors, or to the hospital, I watch my fellow patients. I imagine what their lives are like. By their dress, or manner of being, I try to guess what others may see when they see these folk out and about the mundy world.
Do they just see a drunk?
Do they see a crabby old bastard?
Do they see a punk kid with no respect?
What if they saw them all here, in the waiting room at the Organ Transplant Center?
I see people from all walks, all battling a disease that yes, can be self inflicted, or can be genetic. I see the looks in their eyes. I can see those who have given up. I can see those that still have the fight in them. I can see what may become of me, as though watching through a foggy glass.
Because of my being asymptotic, this disease is nothing but a spectre, ominous, but as solid as wisps of smoke to me. I'm disconnected.
I'm not naive, I know how this disease kills. It's drawn out. It kills your organs one at a time. It's painful. You drown from the inside out. I've seen people I love go down this road.
I recently lost a friend to this disease.
He was one of those few who finally gave up, and let the disease take him. He gave up the fight during a bout a deep depression.
But still I feel the disconnect.
My test results show no progress towards that destination.
And that keeps me hanging on.
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