I went on instagram this morning after a while of being away and the first post on my feed was an obituary of a sickle cell warrior like myself. Beautiful lady, full of life, open about her life and how she copes with living with this disease and I couldn’t help but feel really sad and depressed even though I never knew her personally. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way about seeing or hearing about a warrior dying but each time I have this experience, I can’t help but feel grounded in reality and a little survivors guilt.
Guilt because i know for a fact I’m not the best warrior and I could be taking my health a lot more seriously… yet we have people who go by the book, do all the right things, go above and beyond but somehow that still doesn’t cut it in the race of mortality.
Truth is ,I’ve got mad anxiety and have been dealing with depression a lot lately; I don’t know where I’m going, what I’m doing. Half the time I’m just winging it and I look to other warriors doing it right as some sort of motivation and sign pointing me in the right direction but mornings like this just make me feel like “what’s the point of it all”
My heart is racing, thoughts of my own mortality remain poignant in my mind and the uncertainty of it all is sometimes more terrifying than having an actual sickle cell crisis.. I don’t want to die yet, I’m sure she didn’t want to die either but what level of control do we even have over this?
Sometimes you’re doing everything right, using all your meds, getting enough sleep and rest but you’d somehow end up admitted on a hospital bed.. it’s like the ultimate betrayal from your own body and you’re there helpless, in excruciating pain, praying it all goes away soon.
I cried for her this morning but i also cried for myself and this uncertainty…so much I’m yet to experience and achieve and that’s one of the root causes of this anxiety. I feel.. not necessarily a fear of death but more so the fear of a life not lived to its fullest potential.
Life is really just mean. God has His reasons but sometimes i can’t help but question these reasons.. nothing seems logical, it’s all absurd and more often than not; it shakes faith, questions religion and how real it even is if in the end things like this happen. It’s one thing to live with this disease all your life knowing there’s no cure and all you have to do is manage it (speaking of the physical aspect). Mentally it’s a whole different ball game and it’s draining. The mental resilience you have to develop; seeing your fold drop one at a time not knowing if you’re next.
An argument might be made that this should be a precursor to living a fulfilled life knowing you’re on a clock (aren’t we all?) but sometimes it lures you into a shell. You become less of yourself, living life on eggshells in a routine you’ve carefully curated that doesn’t give room for exploration and adventure. Speaking of myself but I’m certain there’s a warrior out here who can relate to this experience. It’s traumatic to say the least and anxiety isn’t a good mixture to this potion of despair.
Journaling takes the edge off for me so naturally, I’ve come on medium to let off some steam after a good long cry.
Praying for myself and every other warrior in this battle for life. I pray it gets easier, i pray we experience the beauty of life itself, I pray we love and experience love, achieve our deepest desires against all odds and serve as a beacon of strength and hope for others in this shared experience.
Sending everyone my love 💕
Thanks for always reading and engaging in these thoughts i share with you 🙏🏼
- Midè 🪶
