When Life Hands You Lymes #51

Can you imagine? Only one more Friday left in 2014! That’s simply amazing to think about. End of the year review coming up soon! I’m excited about that. I was hoping to finish all my posts from the Europe trip before 2015, but oh well. It’s not really a big deal. 
Good news, people! Even though I made pretty good headway on When Life Hands You Lymes this year, (almost 42,000 words) I’m no where near finished, so y’all will continue getting to see life from Madalyn Emerson’s perspective in 2015. 
And now, for segment 51 of my fiction story, When Life Hands You Lymes
Dear Jason,
Once upon a time I had it easy. I was able to float through life like there was nothing wrong. Like a princess without a care. I was able to say what I wanted to say and do what I wanted to do and get what I wanted to get. I’m not sure why that had to change, but sometimes something inside me whispers that getting sick redirected the whole course of my life. That everything will be different now. And maybe some day, far in the future, I’ll look back and say it was for the best. Right now though, right now I just want it back to the way it used to be. 
I want to be happy and carefree. I want to spend my days focused on music. I want to live, not exist. I want to be who I want to be and yet I feel so hopeless. So powerless. Like some freak of nature twisted my fairy tale into a horror story. Where’s the justice in that? Sometimes I wish I had been born this way. If only I didn’t know what it was like to feel normal, if only I hadn’t experienced so many blessings, than maybe my heart wouldn’t be so crushed with pain now. 
I want someone to understand how I feel. I want to be able to see the look of compassion and knowing in their eyes, to feel their light squeeze on my arm as they sit there and say nothing. I want to be able to just throw them a pleading look and have them know that I need them to leave and give me alone time and for them not to be upset about it. 
Is that too much to ask for? Just one person who’s walked in my shoes? Who’s been where I am? Who’s felt what I’m feeling? I can’t stand those trite, superfluous comments “Oh, I understand.” or “I’ve been where you are, sweetie.” or “This too shall pass.” when we all know they have no clue what I’m feeling. Who gave them the power and authority that makes them think they can tell me they’ve been where I am? And how, in the world can they stand there and declare that “this too shall pass”? Who gave them a glimpse into the future? 
I want to call them all jerks. To give them a piece of my mind that they won’t forget. To bring them back to their place. I want to fly into a rage and give them a performance that will make them think twice before they proclaim that they know how I feel. I want to let my angry words spew out and hurt them like their thoughtless words hurt me. 
They understand how I feel? Then how in the name of all that’s right can they stand there yaking when my head is pounding until it feels like a fighter plane malfunctioned inside my brain and is slamming into my skull? How can they keep up random chatter when I’m in so much pain I can’t even tell where it’s coming from any longer? How come they keep asking me to do stuff when it takes all my energy to just open my eyes?
They understand how I feel and what I’m going through? I think not. 
And that, brother dear, is the cynical sister you are now related to. Oh happy day. 

I flung the notebook across the room then grabbed the pen and broke it in half and hurled it as hard as my weakened arm would allow. Flinging myself stomach-down on my bed, I beat my fists into the thick comforter. Burying my head in the cool white fabric, I took a deep breath then let it out with a scream. A chirp from my phone let me know I had a text. Without looking at the screen, I slammed the phone onto the floor, hoping something broke. I buried my head in the blanket again, stifling scream after agonizing scream. 
I didn’t even know what was wrong any more. I didn’t know what had me so upset. I wasn’t even sure if I was awake, maybe it was all a dream. All I knew was that I couldn’t stand my life. I couldn’t stand how all my hopes, dreams, aspirations were disappearing in front of me as a mist enshrouded me, taking over my ability to reason and be normal. 
I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually my anger was replaced with shame and guilt. I slunk off my bed, ripped the pages out of the notebook and systematically tore them into shreds then threw them away. 
Limping into my music room, I tried not to think about the new pain that was cropping up in my legs. 
“Focus, Madalyn. Focus.” I took a deep breath then sat down at my piano. The swirling thoughts that were dancing around in my head confusing me soon took shape into notes as I ran my fingers over the keys. The shivers started in my legs and moved up to my arms as for the first time all week I began to have some sense of peace in my life. I closed my eyes and let my body sway with the music as I listened to my thoughts pouring out though a kaleidoscope of some unknown melody. 
I don’t know how long I sat at the piano bench, totally enthralled in the world I was creating, but eventually the pounding in my head subsided and my muscles began to relax. Pain became a memory and the anxiety I’d been bursting with transitioned into a deep stillness I could almost taste. 
What seemed like hours later I looked up to see Darrick leaning at the doorway, a sad smile on his face. 
I blinked, then continued feeling my way along the keys. 
Darrick didn’t say anything, but after a moment I felt him sitting on the bench next to me, a calm declaration of his support. I clenched and unclenched my jaw several times before finally giving into the tears that threatened and leaned into my brother’s embrace as I let the tears flow. 

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