The stronger I am, the weaker I feel. I am scared to death of what I know comes. They tell me I will die and I get a chance of a lifetime is like giving me the golden ticket then closing the chocolate factory. And no one around me understands how to handle someone looking into the face of death and immortality at the same time. When my doctor told me, it didn’t change me. But those I changed my life for didn’t seem to care except for a minute. I got more sympathy when my cat died.
All I ever wanted was one thing in this life. Just to be loved. To belong. To love and know what it was like to have it without feeling I have to deserve it by being someone I can’t be. I am tired of pretending I have something I never really had. I cannot cry anymore. I have to let that go and just take a chance on something I can leave behind for someone to love the way I never was.
Know this: I will go deaf. I will suffer kidney failure. I will lose the ability to write. It will become more difficult to breathe. I will suffocate to death for lack of a better word. Without treatment I will die soon. With it, I could live for years until it eventually kills me. And no one in my family said a word to me except my stepmother said, “sorry to hear that”, like this was the flu or a broken leg. I am dying and it is taken by them as if I just had a cold. I’d rather die than know they don’t care.
The reason I will not die is because I said I would tell Thranduil’s story and not even death will keep me from it. It is the passion that burns in me that keeps my heart beating. Lee gave me that. Tolkien gave me that. Readers gave me that. I was given a reason to live in the face of death. And I will do that.
That is my story, @fortunatelyclevercandy and @peonies-and-poppies. This is all I have. I am not afraid to die. I am afraid of not living while I am still here. I love you and that makes me happy. That and some Lee here and there.