Seven.
Seven surgeries to kill what’s spreading like wildfire.
Seven.
Seven times gone without the ability to speak, left mute yearning for words to be free.
Seven.
Seven times to go back to school and be looked at like a new species shown in a zoo.
Seven.
Seven times to be felt alone. Not one wants to hear the stories or understand the pain.
"Looking for attention" they say, as if they knew. As if they just assumed I lied through my teeth. I am not one who makes up stories. I am not one who toys with emotion. I am not lying.
Liar.
Why can one word hurt another so many different times. Why must you assume someone is what they are not.
I am hurt.
I am broken.
I am unique.
Do not judge me by my stories of hurt but understand me by my stories of recovery. I've seen more a hospital then you would ever think a young child has had to of seen.
Seven.
Seven times too many.
My Story
I’ve been living with my condition since I was two and I’m now 18. My childhood was different then any other kids and there are days where I get really mad about it and it leads to writings like this one.
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