Life Support

Chapter 2

"It's not going to go away, Jacques. It's only getting worse and brining her to the hospital is only costing us money." 

My parents were arguing in the living room, completely unaware of my arrival. I knew money was tight and I knew my condition only made things worse for them but it's not like I was allowed to work either. There were lots of things I couldn't do anymore because of this illness.

"What can we do, Marissa? Leave her like that. Tell our daughter to suffer through it because ‘it'll go away’ eventually? And what if it doesn't go away? What if it gets worse?" My father shouted. From where I was standing, I could see him hovering over my mother.

"There hasn't been a diagnosis. Did you ever think that maybe it's nothing physical and instead maybe something mental?" 

"My daughter isn't mentally ill. We've followed the doctors' recommendations and brought her to see a psychiatrist. You know what she told us, Marissa?"

Their voices were only raising and I was tired of standing there, listening to them argue about me and my condition and how inconvenient we were to the both of them. I was mature enough to participate in their discussions and have a say in the matter.

"She told us nothing was wrong with her. Nothing. Now, if I have to spend the last of our savings on our daughter's well-being, I'll be damned if you try and stop me." 

I pressed my back flat against the wall and watched as my father walked past me, completely unaware of my presence. I let out a breath of air and sank down to the ground, hugging my knees closer to my chest.

When did things get so complicated?

My parents aren't supposed to worry about me so much. They shouldn't have to put their lives on hold because of me and my inability to cooperate normally. If only I knew what was wrong with me, I could start working on getting better. But no doctor could come up with a conclusive result.

"Oh my God, Genesis. Get up honey, what's hurting you?" My mother kneeled down beside me and ran her fingers through my hair, trying to soothe me. But it wasn't, it was driving me insane.

"I'm okay. I was just thinking." I sighed softly, pushing her hands away from me. I got up and adjusted the backpack strapped on my shoulder. My mother's eyes moistened and I immediately regretted snapping at her. She must've been crying after my father left and completely lost it when she saw me in such a state.

"I'm sorry. I'm just tired. I'm gonna head upstairs and take a nap."

"Dinner at six." She whispered and kept an eye on me as I disappeared down the hallway.

I turned around and climbed up the stairs to my bedroom. Throwing my backpack on the floor, I crawled into bed and closed my eyes. I didn't want people being miserable because of me anymore. It was terrifying not knowing what was happening to my body or what the future had in store for me, but I had to deal with it on my own and not bring everybody down with me.

Maybe keeping silent and pretending nothing was wrong with me could do the trick. My mother said it herself; maybe this whole thing is simply orchestrated by me. Maybe there's nothing wrong with me. Maybe a part of me feels the need to invent this illness for a certain purpose. I have no idea what that purpose is but it could be a deep-rooted reason that I have forgotten about or that I refuse to acknowledge, but either way, it's infecting each corner of my life. It's destroying everything my parents have worked for and I can't allow that.