Visitors Come And Go

I am alone and I feel it with every part of me right now. I go through this alone, that is how this works. And it doesn’t matter that if I knew someone who was going through this that I’d be there every second. It doesn’t matter that I’d be there for me. People get to come and go and be supportive when it’s convenient for them, and then they get to go home and recuperate when it becomes too much. I too would like the freedom to go home from this life on the weekends, shed my sick girl clothes and soak in the bath. If I’m not ready to come back to the hospital on Monday, kindly explain to myself that I need a break, that I can’t always be there, I can’t always do this.

I can protest this illness all I want, I can complain that I am here alone and I am sad that nobody wants to do this with me, but it doesn’t change that I have to do this. There will never be time for me to be upset, and if I don’t force myself to take care of the body I’m angry at I’ll die. And so I spend nights in the hospital sobbing alone because I am scared and I am mad that I am the only one here, and I get better because I have to. Everyone around me is so glad that they don’t have to worry anymore. They don’t have those stressful days where they’re tasked with being supportive and can feel relieved that I am finally better. But I don’t get this relief, I still feel alone.