I remember the day when the doctors told me, I was going to die.
That was when I was 5 years old.
2 years past and I was still here, suffering from the same medical condition that I've been trying to fight all my life.
Another 3 years past, and my parents would come visit me in the hospital everyday. My mum would always tell me, "Your father and I love you so much sweetheart, so don't be afraid, everything will be okay." But by then I knew they were lying. If the sad, heartbreaking looks on their faces wasn't enough, then hearing my mum cry herself to sleep by my bedside was.
2 years
4 years
Finally another year has past and here I am. Nothings changed, I'm still waiting for death in a hospital bed; mum's now forced to go to counseling, due to the fact that her constant crying is damaging her health; my parents have stopped staying over night at the hospital, so they can take care of my little sister Grace, and to top it off, I've completely given up on trying to fight my fate.
When you're a little kid you believe in myths and legends; that somewhere out there magic exists and that if you wish hard enough; no matter what your wish will come true.
It doesn't. Ever since my childhood I've wished for some sort of miracle, something that would help save me. In the end, I was left with nothing but disappointment.
Tomorrow I turn 17, and when the time comes for me to blow out my candles and make a birthday wish I know exactly what I'll ask for.