I hate you. You cause me to be the person I dislike the most. An angry, pessimistic, complaining, hopeless and defeated person. You draw attention of the worst kind. Unwelcoming, invading, and uninvited attention. The kind that I don’t want. You’re always there. You never go away. You drag me away from bachelorette parties, weddings and funerals. I hate thinking about you. I hate being stuck naked in the bathroom with you. Countless hours in hundreds of different bathrooms I have waited. On you.

The world does not stop when I’m stuck in the bathroom. But it should. I don’t want to miss out on moments, stories, memories and fun because of you. Sometimes, I would do just about anything to just be normal. Whatever that even is. Oh, how I took “being normal” for granted for eighteen years. It’s the most trite but sometimes most true saying, “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.” So, now that I know, can I have it back? I promise to remember how much I despise you. I promise to remember how many times your existence altered my plans. I promise to remember every painful detail of every moment when things went wrong. All because of you.

My husband read the above paragraphs and said “I feel sorry for your disease. You’re being a bully to it.” Maybe I am. It bullies me from time to time too. Maybe it’s hard to turn the cheek some times. Sometimes, I want to hurt it’s feelings. Cause it pain, discomfort, uneasiness. I can’t be happy and optimistic all the time, you know? That’s absurd. Someone, no some disease, knocked my half-full glass over. And guess what? I’m the one cleaning up the mess. That’s right, with a piss-poor attitude because sometimes I let myself be angry, grouchy, mad, sad, and then angry again. Once I talk about it, cry about it and then even laugh about it, then I can get over it and move past it. Nobody likes to be around a potentially volatile ready-to-erupt volcano. That can be hot and dangerous. Messy and a little scary. It’s much better to be a shaken-up pop can, way less of a disaster. And this disease can shake me up something fierce. Like an eight year old boy with a vengeance kind of shaken-up soda can. After I open up, spew a little, then I can finally get out of the bathroom. Ughh. I hate it in there anyways.

In my post-bullying disease episode, I feel so bad, like I need to apologize… to my disease. I mean it. You know, thank it for all of the valuable life lessons it’s taught me, unintentionally. I’m like the student who shows up to the wrong class, but stays anyways. I don’t know, perhaps, because I like the teacher. Or maybe because I’m embarrassed, I was already late and I don’t want to leave mid-lecture. Ackkk. So, now, I’m stuck in the wrong class, but I’m learning so much. I shouldn’t be here. But, I am. So, I should start taking notes. What am I even talking about? I get going sometimes with those analogies and lose myself.

In my guilt-ridden state, I suppose I should recognize the many kind, beautiful, generous and helpful people who brought tears to my eyes today because they cared. They wanted to help, not for money, but because they could. They had the resources, the skills, the compassion. And they truly cared. Most of them don’t even know me. So, okay, I take it all back. You, annoying disease that you are, have taught me to recognize the helpers, the lovers, the encouragers, the listeners. And so for all of the hours I’ve spent in the bathroom, the love that overflows when someone helps me feels like a volcano erupting. A volcano of confetti, sprinkles, pop rocks, flowers, and just pure love. That trumps the shit. Any day of the week. So, thank you. Just try not to be so annoying, okay?