Only to hear the words:
“Get over it. There are people who have it worse.”
You hang up the phone and you again bear witness as the monsters start to dominate your skull.
There is nothing more heartbreaking than not knowing if you can still get through the day.
When the count of your breath depends on the drugs you were prescribed.
When you can hardly get out of bed because of the condition that only a handful can recognize.
And you wish, and you hope, and you hope that they know..
That you’re silently wishing that your life would be as colorful as your brain’s PET scan.