I stood stock-still, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror as a wave of pain came and went. 10 seconds, I counted. Only 10. A small miracle, I decided, as the memories of the last time I felt that deep burning in my stomach flashed in the back of my mind. A constant reminder that I’m a ticking time bomb. A constant reminder to be ready at all times, even though there’s no preparing for it. There’s no relief.

Will I survive the next time? Will I be carried out of my home in the hands of an EMT who will scroll on his phone in the ambulance as my eyelids flutter with my failing efforts to stay conscious? Will I once again dig my nails in my poor husband’s skin and beg for death?

How many times do I have to scream, until someone hears me?

Doctors have to hear it all day – the complaints, valid or not. Exaggerated or not. But I don’t ask for help. I don’t like to be a bother. My pain tolerance is high and my disdain for strangers prodding at me keeps me away from their prying hands…it took the little strength I had left, the loss of my pride, the primal desperation to survive despite my verbal pleas otherwise, to ask for help. But my quality of life is rapidly depleting and I have no more answers than the day I started asking questions. I can’t survive hearing “That’s normal,” ever again.

I wonder if I’ll still hear it as I’m lying on my deathbed. I wonder how long I can wait, helpless, for someone to listen long enough to fix me before I’m too far gone. I wonder if I’ll ever be healthy enough to manage normal things like keeping a tidy house and maintaining hobbies and having children. I wonder if it’s too late. I wonder when the constant pain, sickness, and exhaustion will drive me to insanity.

It’s been over a year of loss. My friends, family, my health. It’s been a painful, awful, lonely time in spite of the small joys in between. A lifetime of confusion and endless effort. I’ve thrown my hands to the sky and asked God, “What have I done so wrong?” with no reply. I still have faith, after everything. I still do, because I have so little else left. So I keep trying, despite myself. I take what I can get where I can get it and pray through the tears.

I pray to know what healthy feels like, I pray for a world that makes more sense, I pray for a more empathetic world, I pray to become the kind of person people want to keep around, I pray for those I have lost. I pray, because I need someone to hear me. Because it’s all there’s left to do.