I write this despairingly… With the already brutally engrained notion that there is no help for people like me. People who fall through the cracks and lose themselves to the inevitable repetition of ‘poor problems’. There is no safe platform that will not soon collapse under the weight of a hiccup… Which to many, is only a brief interception of normalcy. But for people like me, the tightness you feel in your chest never subsides. All you know is a life of fear, so nothing can scare away the involuntary myoclonic jerks that overwhelm you again and again until there is nothing left of you.
All of my life I have been poor. I have lost touch with the feeling of relief… because every time I feel like I can breathe again, I am reminded that bad things happen to you when you cannot afford to prevent them. I no longer allow myself to give in to that delusion; that something will soon get better. I try not to resent the life I was born into, as there has always been love there, but there has also been pain, addiction, illness, abuse… And I am left asking myself, how can I do better? How can I grow up to be a parent that loves my children enough not to lose myself to drug addiction? How can I prevent the cancer that I’ve begun to hope is coming to me? How can I offer myself to a humble child whose only dream is to go to school so she can someday help people just like her?
Even now, I am still that child. At least, a glimmer of her. In my twenty-five years of life, I have found a way to survive, but I long to find a way to live. This is my attempt. I have worked tirelessly to complete high school, a luxury that I could not have at a time where I needed to work, and at a time that I was ill. I have spent more than half of my life burning out to afford an education so that I could one day make something of myself and take care of my mom. I have now officially received my first offers to school, but because of the hiccups, the familiar delusion, and the digits that follow a dollar sign, I am met with ever-lasting notion once more; there is no HELP for ANIMALS like ME.
That is what the world has taught me. This is what I know. I could write endlessly about my hardships, but I suffer enough from the reminders. This is a pathetic plea for a chance to have a little time, even just a semester, to be reminded of what is good. That there are people who care about other people… That there are people not affected that too hate the systems that ruin us… Those of us who cannot afford to prevent it.
Any bit helps.