What He Would Have Said


United States
44° 8' 38.8392" N, 72° 29' 4.3692" W

Paralysis creeps like a spider through my muscles and down my spine.
One little mutation is my Dystrophin gene has THROWN me into this chair and said,
Don’t. Move

I am not my prognosis.
I am a man.
To them I am just a talking medical chart with “Terminal Condition” written on my face.

Doctors poking and prodding, they look at me as just another statistic.
I am just one speckle in ocean that is this emergency room.

I am condemned to a life of this repeating cycle.
Ambulance, IV, medication, release, repeat.
Repeat until your hope is ground into little granules, so many that it could fill a beach.

I know that I have to deal with what I have been given, but this disconsolate creek has morphed into an
ocean, and I am drowning.
Trapped in a body that won’t move.
A body that is screaming “I can’t, and I won’t”

I lay in this hospital bed, staring up at the white sterile ceiling.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
This time is different. I’m not getting better.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
I am tired of fighting this lengthy battle that is leading me nowhere.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Pain is just a symptom of our realities.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

I love you.


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741