uncovered

Old "Molly"

When I was young, I was life. I was happy, loving, caring, tender hearted. I remember how Chelsea and I would play in the ditches around the neighborhood. I remember how I was flying a kite and Chelsea bit me. I cried so hard when she got those swats. Thirteen of them. And then Chloe came along and I had two little sisters. Those were the days. I want to be young again. I want to be free from these shackles. I don’t want to waste away.
I have Wilson’s. It is a rare recessive genetic disorder in which copper accumulates in the liver, spreads through the blood, resulting in serious neurological side effects and liver disease. It is treated with medication that reduces copper absorption or removes the excess copper from the body, but occasionally a liver transplant is required. It has taken over me. It has taken over my mind, my hands, my feet, my soul. I hate you, God. For making me go through this. What have I done? Did I do something wrong? Why me? I know it’s a selfish thing to ask but why couldn’t it have been one of my sister’s? I hate you, God. I want to believe you’re up there, but sometimes I question it. Why are you making me eat baby food while my family enjoys pizza and chocolate? Why have you taken away my voice and my swallowing? I have to constantly keep a rag in my mouth or I will drool all over everything. WHY?????????????? I used to be normal, free from this shit. I hate you, God. I have become a monster, hurting the people I care about most. My family, Ben’s family, my friends. I don’t even know me anymore. I have had many a time where I thought, “Just kill yourself Molly…just pick up the knife and do some damage!” I have come to the conclusion that by killing myself, I would go to hell. But isn’t that where I’m living now? Who knows anymore?
I remember taking turns of who got to go to the store with Daddy. I remember loving to go to Sam’s on Sunday and eating off the food displays. I hate you, God. Why me? I didn’t do anything to you, so why are you doing this to me? I am probably going to ask you this many more times. I know the reason.
You know how when you are spinning on a marry-go-round and you know that once you get off you will probably not be able to see straight and fall over? That’s my life. I can’t see straight. Why me, God?
I know why me, God. Because I am your baby, and I know that you won’t let anything bad happen to me. You won’t serve me a dish that you absolutely know I won’t be able to finish. I love you, God.

Kinda new "Molly"

My name is Molly and Mr. Wilson has taken over me. I wrote the above letter to God when I was in a much worse state of mind, spiritually, mentally, physically, emotionally. I am much better. I remember things though. Aggression, bitterness, hate. I was not Molly. I’m still not Molly. I am caged. By medicine. By no driving. By no voice. By no eating. I’m not Molly. I’m Mr. Wilson. I’m not pretty like I was. I don’t smile the same. I don’t walk the same. I wear a mask. I make people laugh, thinking it will help me but it doesn’t. I’m unhappy. Haven’t been happy since about January. Truly happy. So heres “Molly” taking off her mask. I’m mad, don’t know what to do, what to say, what to think. I don’t know. There’s a boy. I like him. He’s seen me. I don’t know him. I have grown quite fond of him. I often ask him emotional questions and his response…”idk.” I don’t know whether to give up and just look somewhere else or if he will show me himself. His emotion. How he feels. It’s just one more thing to pile on. So I am alone. Thinking. Wondering. What is he thinking about me? He doesn’t come over. There have been many opportunities. I don’t know if he’s scared, nervous, just not into me, I don’t know. I try not to think about it, can’t help myself. Why? Because I like him. I like a guy….I have never met. Weird. Yes. But true. I don’t know anything anymore. Changing subject. Every time the phone rings it could be a liver. It could be. I don’t know. UAMS would show up on the caller id. I’m scared. Nervous something might go wrong. I don’t know. God….take it off my shoulders and put it on yours. I’m done. Finished. So what to do. Wait. Pray. That my weak body can handle such an extremely difficult surgery. Pray that I will wake up. I will. I know it. I will be Molly again. Voice, food, true happiness. I will. Hopefully sooner, rather than later.