No You Don’t

You tell me that you completely understand what it is like to be me right now…

You say you know what it’s like to go to uni while unwell because you have that cold that you’ve missed a week worth of lectures because of (This is what I refer to as ‘healthy people ill’; having attended both lectures and practical sessions while literally in the process of dying, and sneaking out of hospital to attend lectures with IV lines hanging out of me, all while trying to keep it to myself and managing not to post about it on a group chat – forgive me for laughing a little at your pity party).

You tell me that you know what it’s like to feel this tired because you were up until 2 am last night binge watching your favourite show.

You tell me that you understand how I’m feeling without knowing the full situation (I know this, because I haven’t told you)

You say you know I’ll be fine (ignoring the fact that I am only flesh and bone, and have simply been very lucky so far)

You think you understand the gravity of the situation I am in (the way you brush away my concern and make me feel ridiculous and alone in the process… doesn’t really correlate)

You tell me that you know how you would react given a few minutes to stand where I am standing (despite the fact that I am standing here and have no idea how to react).

You say you understand what I am going through emotionally (but then expect me to act normally a few minutes later, and force me to feign interest about ‘healthy people problems’ that I no longer have the capacity to help you deal with even though I want to, and seem trivial to my brain when I’m freaking out)

You think you know how I feel now, because I’m smiling, because I’m not crying or sending out any other obvious emotional signals (all you have to do is look me in the eye).

You tell me that you understand how it feels to lose someone because your friend’s grandparent died that time (you forget that I was already scared of the end, was already terrified of losing myself to whatever comes after life; I do not just have the pain of the loss, but I have been hit by the bullet of my own mortality and this time I wasn’t wearing any kevlar).

You roll your eyes and tell me that you know I didn’t fail that histology practical because I’ve done well at everything else, despite that fact that this time my mind was somewhere else and I left half the paper blank (you seem to think I’m intelligent, and that intelligence can triumph over the emotional turmoil of finding out a friend has died, and the unshakable thought that your own body may follow suit)

You say that you know I’m the best friend you’ll ever have (scroll up, read it again, I am not a good friend to anybody right now, even myself).

You think you know what I need to hear, and make it your business to tell me over and over, even when I’m trying to forget for a little while (complete with eye rolling and that patronising tone that makes me feel small and stupid)

You claim to know me right now…

No you don’t. (Even I do not know who this is)

 

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