Finding Joy

It's been almost 7 days and I'm nowhere closer to knowing what's wrong and nowhere closer to getting out of this bed. My once strong and loyal body has failed me this past week, and while I laugh when I mention lobotomies, please know I am only half kidding. It feels like there is a lunatic running loose in my head with a steak knife, he has been carving out my eye sockets while feasting on my brain and picking his teeth with fragments of my skull, and I wish for nothing more than to reach in and grab his sorry little ass. The hospital originally swirled words like meningitis, brain hemorrhaging, and aneurysms while the IV dripped panic into my veins and fear into my chest. I was haunted by visions of my mother's tracheotomy, wondering if mine was mere incisions away, but my scans came back negative, and while I wanted to jump for joy, my body would not cooperate. It's days later and I am nowhere closer to jumping for joy, my body is nowhere closer to cooperating. I keep telling myself, maybe tomorrow. My heart is swelling now with compassion for those who live with chronic illnesses, for those who don't get to hold onto the maybe tomorrows, for those whose bodies fail them everyday, but for those who get up with joy anyway. I will make it my mission to try to find joy despite the knife wielding lunatic that has temporarily taken residence in my head.

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