To Those Who Don't Believe in Invisible Illnesses,
Forgive me if these thoughts are too raw, too painful, or too forceful to be let out now. I am usually one who waits patiently for hurts to dissipate throughout my body.
Not this time.
Not this time, for you have reduced me to a pile of rubble. A walking panic attack. An indignant, yet defeated, individual.
Did God create you without a heart? I have not heard you squeak like the tin man. Likewise, you have never heard me roar like a lion; for I have no courage left to fight you. Perhaps we were both born without brains.
I have internalized each hurt endured by your attitude of omission, but I now have a few things to say to you. Depression is REAL. Sjogren's Disease is REAL. And anxiety, for me - right now - is VERY, VERY REAL. How is it that you have decided to hurt me most when I needed you? When I reached out for help? I used to have a name for you but it no longer applies. I know not what to call you now.
