I have a curse. An inherited one, passed down from my mother to me.
It was her undoing at an early age, at a time when medical science didn’t know what they know today.
I do not plan to go the way she did.
I was never asked about this curse, I was never consulted; it is my lot in life.
I have no choice but to live with it.
And I do.
It is an insidious parasite that lives within me sucking my life away.
It is such a part of my now that at times I feel it has developed a sort of intimate relationship with me, in that I know how it works, I know its daily routine and that’s where I have the upper hand in this battle.
I doubt it sees me that way.
I fight daily.
Drugs that delay it progress, diet that starves it of the things it thrives on.
As I age its grip tightens but let me tell you there will be one white flag over my door.
Cursed as I am, I will fight it, as I am doing, I have too much to live for, children to watch grow as adults, grandchildren to watch grow as children and wonderful friends to commune with and one day meet.
The curse may well be within me but it is not me.
To most people they will never know, there is no black mark over me, no scars, it all happens inside of me and my mind sets itself to fight with all its might to stave off any progress it may be contemplating.
Everyday I remind myself as to who is running my life, ME, never this pervasive curse.
There are days when I am sure it thinks it has the upper hand, days where I am exhausted from the battle, for that is its strategy to wear me down, a little at a time until I can no longer stand to carry on my fight.
If and when that happens I will know it has won, but not yet, dear God, not yet, there is much to live for.