Pain. More pain. It hurts so much that I cry out in agony. My voice echoes through the dark, empty hallway as people in white rush in to help me ease my pain. I breathe heavily as weariness overcomes my weak body. My illness makes me so helpless, and I can’t do anything. I am not able to think straight and tears drop as if it were rain. The tears cause more suffering, and suffering causes more tears. It keeps repeating and repeating, and I can’t do anything. Even after all those long minutes that seem like hours of calming down, I cover my face with my hands and do not respond to what those people are trying to say to me. Although they cannot see, my mind is on the verge of going haywire. I have to endure this pain every single day, this seizures that keeps tormenting me like a bully. Why? Why must I be the slave to this rare, unknown disease that no one has? Why must God give me a path of life with distress and loneliness?
I am the one that possesses this body of a thirteen year-old boy that has been here for his entire life. My case of illness was a one that no one in the world as seen before, so the doctors have locked me in this secluded place in a big hospital. I cannot remember my parents’ faces, and I have never interacted with anyone in my age group. It is lonely here, and it rips my heart to pieces to know that I probably can’t leave this place for my whole life. Every day, I look out the window and see little children, prancing around without any mind at all. While no one’s looking, I shed a tear or two because of that desperate wanting to break free from the chains of this never-ending abyss. I’d rather be one of the ignorant children than to be this boy who knows the pain and cruelty of this world.