An Unpredictable Universe

1. Sabrina: This Is My Life

I am far from having the pulchritude of a normal teenage girl who is not disable or ill.

Rather in comparison, I believe that I have the features of an ambulating zombie.
These thoughts that I have are mainly induced due to me being diagnosed with severe osteosarcoma- a type of cancer that affects the bones- at the age of fourteen, and I've been hospitalized throughout my high school years and continuing.
My teenage years were infused with illimitable torment all because of my experiences with needles, minor surgeries here and there, and constrained sunlight.
Every other day, my mother and father still remind me that I'm getting stronger and that I'm this soldier fighting this fatal cancerous tumor that's assailing my bones; however, my mindset is predominantly filled with despair. I'm at a vulnerable state and my parents are blind from that ineluctable veracity.
Currently, I'm eighteen years old, and a wreck.
Everyday follows the same repetitive routine that gets unbearable.
I consume multiple medication that helps treat several things.
Some of the treatments help ease pain throughout my body as well as engendering white blood cells after losing many of them due to chemotherapy. Ultimately, I'll be scheduled to have a massive surgery that will be intended to remove my large tumor that's found by my knee cap.
Since I am very frail, I'm unable to walk or stand on my own.
I have a button on the side of my wall that I can press which notifies several nurses throughout the hospital to come to my aid when needed. Most times though, Nurse Teresa helps with bringing me to the bathroom and she's been helping me for quite some years now.

Every day, I stare at my window, while lying on my hospital bed, and imagine the lives' of other people in the outside world. I imagine a group of teenagers laughing hysterically throughout the night. Then, I imagine how it would feel like to work as an adult and return to your own apartment and order take out or struggle cooking dinner for yourself because you're too exhausted to do so.
Sometimes, before I go to bed, I also imagine fake scenarios of myself with people that I create in my head. I've fantasized my first kiss with a boy, hanging out with friends, etc.
I've always wondered how it would feel like to go to high school parties, watch mesmerizing sunsets on top of a mountain after a long hike to the top, or make out with a guy on his couch for hours until we got tired.
At this point of my life, I already forgot how it feels to live in the outside world. Ever since my cancer started, I've always yearned to experience the feeling of growing up in an actual home again rather than in a hospital room. I'd have my own room again and adapt to norms and every day traditions like before. I'd be able to self- improve myself and especially become attractive.
Now, I'm just... numb?
Or I believe I'm just not the effervescent girl that I used to be.
I mean I'm not pretty.... anymore.
I don't have a sufficient amount of hair on my head, and my bright dirty blonde color became a dark unchangeable brown color that appears to be bleak and lifeless.
My face is scrawny and pale, and my thin body is covered with a bunch of scars from past surgeries and treatments.
When I look at my reflection in the mirror, I see a bundle of imperfections.
I like to compare myself to a ball of yarn that's tangled yet cannot be untangled. All of the strands of yarn represent these insecurities that will forever stay.
Let's say my cancer goes away and I miraculously become beautiful and normal again... those insecurities still won't fade away into the abyss.
Generally, I am just a self-conscious girl with presumably no future to claim as my own someday since my chances of surviving
in the near future are low.
My presence isn't meaningful since I won't last long to leave a somewhat important impact on this world.
I view myself as nothing but a nuisance.
I guess I'll just have to lay in this hospital bed until my body gives up fighting. Chemo therapy isn't always efficient anyways, and I don't care how pessimistic I may sound... I'm just being realistic.
Unfortunately, I probably won't be able to fall in love and have children of my own and watch them grow and experience my own nostalgia as a mother. I'll most likely never accomplish anything if I end up living past my thirties if I'm lucky.
Anyways, people say to grant wishes once you see a shooting star in the sky...
Every night, I stare at the vast night sky filled with stars and wish for my misery to end. No more... No more... All of the medicines, treatments, surgeries... All for what? I'm not getting better but worse.
My doctor, best known as Dr. Flora, says I'm getting better, but I'm not a child anymore who gets deluded by words that are said in order to give me "hope." She knows that there's a small fraction of a chance that I'll get better.
So, what's the point of fighting?