Prologue

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For the record, I'm not proud of how I am.

I don't go around, flaunting myself for attention or pity. In fact, I do quite the opposite. I try to hide it all, not wanting people to see me as I really am. I cover up with baggy hoodies and sweats, so that I can hide as much as possible.

You see, I've got problems. No, I'm not abused, and no, I don't have some illness that affects my skin which makes me embarrassed to show it.

But I do have problems. Lots of them. I'm not proud of them, but I have had to learn to live with them.

I have spent my whole life researching, trying to learn about so many different medical issues and syndromes. I rarely even go to the doctor's anymore to get a diagnosis; if I went every time the internet said I should, I would drive my parents and I broke. We'd simply be going in too much.

Almost every couple months (if I'm lucky), I'm faced with a relapse of some problem, or a new one, or a flare-up. And. It. Sucks.


If you're lucky, you get through life easily. Sure, you might break a bone or two, you might have anxiety or depression, or you might have something like asthma that you just have to live with.

A lot of people might not consider this 'lucky', but me? I wish my life was as simple as that.

For a while, I thought living like I've had to was normal. Surely everyone sprains an ankle or finger or wrist at least once every few months, right? Everyone can hear their breathing and talking and heart beating super loud in their ears which messes with their hearing, right? Everyone would rather die than be around people, right?

Apparently not. It took a while for me to realize that what I'd been living with for years wasn't what most people would classify as 'normal'. And now, here I am, living life as normal as I've ever known it, which of course means one, but usually at least two joint braces, trying to block the sound of my own breathing in my ears so that I can actually hear other things, while struggling to breathe.

It's simply my normal.


Word Count: 374

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