Why do you choose not to hear me?  Why do you choose not to see me?  But instead to turn your eyes away, to turn your heart away.  Why does it anger you when I speak about it?  Why do you have such doubt?  Do you not believe what I say?  Do you not trust my words?  I thought we were friends.  I thought we had the kind of relationship that could handle honesty.  One that could handle hurt and real life.

If I had cancer, would you accept me, then?  If I was dying, would you believe me, then?  If I had no hair so you could see my sickness?  If I was emaciated as it wrecked my body?  But I don’t.  I have only my words to tell you of my disease.  But it’s no less real.  It’s no less painful.  It’s no less relentless.  I need doctors, just the same.  I need help, just the same.

I hope you never feel the pain I’ve felt.  I hope you never understand it like I do.  I hope it never touches you like it has touched me.

But if you could choose to believe it’s real it would make a difference to those of us who do know it and feel it.  When you look into someone’s eyes, knowing they don’t understand, it’s so lonely and isolating.  But when they throw an arm around you anyway, you know the love they have for you.  You know they stand by you – not because they’ve been there and understand where you are – but because they love you and want to help you.

It’s hard.  It’s frustrating.  Nobody said it would be easy to support someone like me.  I know this.  I know the pain it causes those who watch.  I know the helplessness they feel.  I know the anger they feel when they just want me to get better already.  I know.  I get it.  But they stay anyway.  They choose to love me, even when it’s difficult.

It’s a choice to love us, to love me.