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A Letter To My Chronic Illness

To my chronic illness,
Where do I begin? Writing is hard. Well, concentrating is hard. Funnily enough, you are the reason it’s so hard for me right now to think straight and form coherent sentences.
I’m currently sat facing the window, and every time I look up at that beautiful blue sky outside I dream of the day you stole from me. Today should have been a day filled with ice lollies, bare feet on warm concrete, drawing in the back garden, sitting in the grass making daisy chains. Instead, I’ve been in bed today. This is one of the first real days of summer we’ve had this year, and hopefully not the last - but summer only lasts a few months, especially in Scotland, and it will take longer than that for you to loosen your grip on me.
You’re always with me, but you’re no friend of mine and you’re certainly not a part of me. You’re like a leech, stuck to me, sucking the life out of me. You drape me in veils of exhaustion, hiding me from sight. You trap me with invisible weights, you swap ou…

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