a couple of days ago
I googled my diagnosis for the first time
for the first time in 12 years I sat down with my computer in my lap and looked up what she is like
I've always felt like I knew her well enough
that there was nothing left for me to find out
and it turned out to be true
there isn't
but that's not even the point
because the reason I never did is the same I never talk about it
I am scared of her
I am scared to look at her
to touch her
to know her
it's all very scientific
what they write about her
researches are being conducted
no cure yet discovered
regrowth possible
treatments available
it is so silly
they don't know her like I do
we've had our ups and downs you know
hell
a couple of years back I had a fifth floor balcony that she almost convinced me to make use of
but as morbid as it may sound
those couple of parts of me that I don't hate
I owe them to her
and for that I would never turn back time and give her up
I would never ask for all those years of ruined youth to be given back to me
I never want to find out what my life would've been like without her because in that other life
and this is something I know
I would've been a horrible person
I would've taken everything for granted
and I would've hurt a lot of people
and I would've hated myself even more
despite maybe the fact that after all of these years I still haven't learned how to speak of the kind of pain that she causes me each second of every day
I love her
so much so that in an unrealistic scenario where I stand in front of a mirror with long healthy hair
I would miss her
I would grieve her
I am not writing this after having just stashed my wig away
I am writing this while half of my funny little ponytail is already gone
and this might as well be the best day of my life
do you see it now?
how could I ever grow to be someone to say those words and mean them
without her?
I suppose somewhere along the line there was a point
the same point at which my dad was sure I'd given up
where I stopped being convinced that healed is something I have to be
that once I am
I could start living at last
that she was a disease
a threat to my life that I had to get rid of whatever it takes
but I am so sorry
because she is none of those things
I woke up one morning
and she was to me something completely else
maybe it was the morning after my dad shaved my head
or maybe it was a couple of weeks back when he looked at me with tear-stained eyes when I realised I'd have to spend the rest of my life with her
and even then
I couldn't bring myself to hate her
couldn't make myself feel the kind of pity for me that was written all over his face
for reasons so long unknown to me but no longer
and it's this
the pain is worth it
it always was
