Creepypasta Origins

It Breathes, It Bleeds, It Breeds

I have always been a sick child. It was never bad enough to warrant a trip to the hospital, but it was always something that was hanging over me. I was smaller and less energetic than most kids my age. While they preferred to run around and play outside, I chose to stay inside and read. The slightest bit of activity was enough to exhaust me for days on end. It wasn't a bad life, but I can certainly see how it made me into the introverted person I am today. I took comfort in books and I experienced the world through them.

It wasn't until I turned twenty-three that I began to question myself. Everyone around me seemed to be getting married and settling down, but I wasn't. I had a few friends at work, but no one who I really hung out with in my free time. My family was gone. I lost my father at a very young age to a heart attack brought on by a lifetime of high cholesterol and my mother passed away shortly after I graduated college from an extremely malignant form of pancreatic adenocarcinoma.

My mother clung onto life for a few weeks before her body shut down. I remember my last memory of her in the hospital. She was so thin that it looked like the slightest breeze would take her from me, her eyes were bright and feverish, and her skin was yellowed like the pages of an old book. The palliative (Demerol) they were giving her to ease her into her final moments robbed her of any coherent last words. She just stared at me with her glassy eyes as the end came for her. I clutched her hand in mine, but it was like she wasn't even there. I told her I loved her, she didn't respond. She just closed her eyes and let everything go. I decided that it was time for me to do the same.

I had no close family nearby or any real friends. I was alone in the world. I put in my two weeks' notice at the small company that was gracious enough to hire me fresh-eyed out of college and left town shortly after my mother's funeral. In all honesty, I didn't want to stay there any longer. Everything reminded me of what was gone and what I was missing out on. After selling our house and settling the matter of her will, I had enough to get far away.

I chose the countryside. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts for a while. I felt like I needed some time to work through everything and decide on my next course of action. My inheritance afforded me that privilege. In hindsight, I realize that this was the worst possible choice in my life. Living alone, with only my thoughts to keep me company, a mile away from my closest neighbor, only served to deepen my sense of isolation. I was alone with my thoughts, and I quickly realized that none of them were good.

I think my mental state only quickened my descent into sickness. It began when I noticed a small mass on my left upper arm just underneath the skin. It was about the size of a pea and I could move it around under my skin about a quarter of an inch or so in each direction. At first I told myself that it was a fatty deposit and nothing to be concerned about. Under palpitation, I experienced a slight discomfort but no more than when manipulating any other section of my body. It wasn't until I noticed that it was slowly growing that I began to get concerned.

I eventually broke down and went to see a doctor who assured me that it was likely a lipoma or xanthoma and was nothing to be concerned about. He reassured me that it was more likely a symptom of high cholesterol rather than a sign of cancer. He explained that while family history and genetics had given me a bad hand, that didn't necessarily mean I couldn't live a long, healthy life. I was still unsure about the lump which led to me asking if we could biopsy it.

He reasoned that there was no real need to do so, that they were harmless. Since the mass was movable under my skin it meant that it was encapsulated and was likely benign. He said that getting a sample would only confirm what we already knew and would cost me about four hundred dollars. He advised me to cut back on my red meats and to come back if I noticed any change in the lipoma. I thanked him and left the hospital feeling comforted. That reassurance lasted about a month.