autoimmune awareness, ironic, ironically, irony, writing

Hard Day’s Night


The Beatles have a song for everything. I slept finally, my brain drained from the pain; screaming in my sleep where I used to laugh. None of us know when we are going to die but it gets a little closer when you are facing down the barrel of the gun that is going to kill you; in my case, the gun is an unseen disease called ‘autoimmune disease’. One of the ironies of my life; I have something that attacks my body and causes it to slowly eat away at every cell, organ, bone on the inside. What the normal process of life is but sped up like night lights on a fast photo time lens. When the doctor had first mentioned it to me I had to ask him to say it again and slowly. “Your cells are attacking themselves.” blah blah blah; no please how can that be? It was like the game my older brother and sister played with me as a child; “stop hitting yourself”. It made me laugh because it was so ironic; the love of irony a gift from God given to me early in life. This game involved the elders taking my arm and hitting my face with my own arm while saying, “Stop hitting yourself!” I would laugh and laugh and it got to be harder and harder to pull my arm away because I was laughing so much; I couldn’t stop myself. Well, believe me, I’m not laughing now and I wasn’t laughing when the doctor called my work that I loved to explain that “autoimmune” cells are attacking themselves. Speeding up the natural flow of death at a certain percentage (in my case ‘aggressively’. ) I don’t sleep much now partly from the pain and also what I term the ‘pain nightmare’: Every time I moved I groaned becoming more and more conscious of the pain. All the more ironic because I pray for relief from the ever-presence of this aggressive beast.
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