Bitter Heart

Check out my latest Chronic Mama column:

I remember that night; it was a few months after I was diagnosed and my best friend and I were visiting my grandparents for spring break. My friend heard me moaning in my sleep and tried to wake me. When she turned on the lights, she saw that I was sweating and later told me my eyes were rolled back in my head. I recoiled in fear and disgust at the image of myself. Later that evening, after a Snickers bar was mashed into my biting mouth, I lay awake for hours in the dark room, afraid to fall asleep, afraid of the animal inside.

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