THE αят OF LIVING [clifford au] on hold

cruelty {michael}

❝Sometimes, I wonder,

if wanting to live,

makes you die faster,

and if wanting to die,

makes you live slower.❞

-

I am dying.

And it's not the kind of dying, where you're given a chance to live.

It's the kind of dying where they give you a metaphorical stopwatch, and tell you the amount of time you are allowed to live, as if they dictated your future in their spare time.

The cruelty of the world is more than I can personally fathom, and as much as I would like to say, there is hope, well, there is most certainly no hope, and I recommend you move on with your life.

And as my life seems to be in the hands of metaphorical-stopwatch carrying-cancer specialists.

And before you lay the solid wall of uncomfortable-ness and pity, stop for a moment, completely ignore the ugly, pale, almost-dead person, also known as me, and live your life.

I am the kind of dying where my body pretty much hates me and even if there is any hope, which there isn't, my mother continues to tell her self that I will live, even though, literally, everyone knows I won't.

And I continue to tell the doctors that "yes, I am breathing, which means that yes, I am alive. Now will you please drug me and continue to lie to my parents about how I could still possibly live, because who are we kidding?"

And I continue to not-die, because living and not-dying are completely different things, and lord knows how far into oblivion I already am. Because let's face it, they're just preparing themselves for my death, no matter how much they deny it.

And I continue to plan my funeral, because the minute I read about Augustus Waters attending his own funeral, I knew it was time.

Time to let go.

So I sit, waiting for death to just freaking get up off its lazy ass, and kidnap me or some weird shit.

And I [not-so-patiently] wait for death, so I can freaking breathe without a freaking heart monitor telling me that I'm alive, as if I don't already know.

So I'll wait, because I am too physically restricted to do anything besides watch crappy daytime tv, and eat crappy hospital food.

Oh, the irony, of being killed by your own freaking body.

It's pure cruelty, really.

-

sometimes i want to cry

so i write this book,

and the tears come