He’s over it – I know it. That’s why I never want to say anything. That’s why I never want to tell anyone. And then I do, and then I regret it.
My blood work came back abnormal and my doctor wants me to meet with a specialist for a follow up. Genetically it makes sense that I’d have a chance at getting an autoimmune disorder, but I figured my father’s genetics would have countered them (for various reasons). I am not happy as the different disorders my doctor has thrown around have an increased chance of me dying young-
You know what? Well played, God.
I see what you did there. Don’t appreciate it and then you lose it.
…But that doesn’t seem right either. It’s not that I don’t appreciate life itself or even my life. I was born with this teeny, tiny trip wire in my brain that, somehow, got tripped. This trip wire overrides my evolutionary predisposition as a human being to want to proliferate and survive. How the hell can I appreciate something I’ve been hard-wired to destroy? It takes a lot of fucking introspection and work. A lifetime of work. If my life gets cut short, I’ll not have completed my chance to prove I can re-wire my system and really live this life.
I’m not done yet. I can’t be done yet. I haven’t even begun.