The Conversation

I’m only 22. That’s it. Just 22. And somehow every few weeks I find out something else is wrong with me — some new issue, some random bullshit that makes existing harder. I can’t take meds without insane side effects. My knee’s fucked, my spine is mutated like literally bent wrong in a way that makes bending over feel like Russian roulette. One bad move and I’m stuck in bed. And now, my jaw decided to go crooked. After 3 YEARS of braces. Now I can’t even chew scrambled eggs without pain. Do you know how humiliating that is?? Scrambled. Eggs.

I’ve been living off soft food and protein shakes like I’m 90 years old. Want to know how I eat bread? I dip it in a bowl of water like a goddamn raccoon so I can mash it into something swallowable. That’s my life. That’s how I survive breakfast. And the universe has the audacity to watch me go to the gym 6 days a week, eat clean, do every single “right” thing and it still fucks me over. Like, hey, thanks for trying. Here’s TMJ and another orthodontist bill. Hope you like plastic aligners and talking with a lisp at work, loser.

I’m fucking furious. I’m exhausted. And I’m scared. If this is my body at 22, what the fuck is left of me at 50? Or 60? Will I even make it that far? I’m so tired of pretending this is fine. It’s not fine. I hate this body. I hate this constant uphill battle. And the worst part? No one gets it. No one sees this mess but me.

I just want one fucking thing in my life to work the way it’s supposed to. Is that too much to ask?