SICKLE CELL; WHEN LOVE IS A CRIME. (an excerpt from "A thing of the heart ")
I wish I don’t have to write something like this, I detest people that write this. Yet here I find myself writing it, some write it to point fingers and play the blame game while others write it to console their loved ones.
But as for me, I hope to create awareness. For there are people like me also, and I don’t want them to end up like me. This may be the last thing they remember me by, because no one really cares. Too bad it comes in form of a suicide note.
Life is not fair I know that, but isn’t life too unfair to me? I was born with Sickle cell anemia. Who is to be blame for my predicament? Is it my parents who followed their heart and got married or their heart for misleading them? Well, to play the blame game is too late now.
My life has been a mess, and it has never been rosy for me as a kid and even as I was growing up everything keeps falling apart. Sick today healthy tomorrow was and still my case.
I’m tired of this world, nothing has ever makes sense to me anymore. Being sick today and getting better tomorrow wasn’t my choice. But now I have the choice to end it.
I hate it then, when after months of absence from school I hear my teachers gossip about my sickle cell condition and also I hate having to watch other kids play and not been able to join them because of my condition. I need not to be told I was an outcast, I knew I was one. I hate the way those uncles and aunties pitiful eyes bore at me anytime they come visiting.
I’m done with hope; I’ve been there before. I’m done with change, I can’t remember what the word means again and patience and I broke up a long time ago. I can’t keep putting on that fake plastic smile, my acting days are over. I am the true definition of failure, no thanks to my dad who make it known to me always how much of a useless child am. To him I’m a financial liability. My hatred for this world is mutual; I have a million reasons to believe it hates me too. Say I’m depressed, but does the dead care?
My heart is so heavy, the voice warning me not to commit suicide sounds far away now. To the only person I care about but still hurt me to see her. If you are reading this, I’m dead already. I’m sorry if this hurt Mum, just know that I’m sick and tired of watching you stare at me on the sick bed and cry. For it hurts to watch you cry. And what hurts more is, knowing fully well that I am the cause of your pain. I feel relieved that I get to save you from the part of watching me die.
Thanks for all your efforts Mum, I know you love me unconditionally but I love you more to go. Tell the world I came; I saw but couldn’t conquer for I am the product of a criminal act of love.