I don’t know what I feel anymore. At first it was fear. Gut wrenching, intense, painful. Those were the words I would use to describe the feelings of my past self. I couldn’t come to terms that I would die. Dying itself was something I feared. I feared that I wouldn’t get to do anything I dreamed of. Perhaps I’ve come to accept it. I don’t fear death anymore. I see it as a relief from my illness. Every step I take, every breath I take, almost anything I do, is so painful.

I often catch myself looking out the window in a daze. My thought are empty. I wish I could say that I started to see the beauty of life now that my time is near. They often say that’s what happens, but it could be further from the truth. I find myself realizing how it was just the opposite. I started to see my family member with their fake smiles. They just wanted to get on my will. The friends that I used to have pretending they cared for me. It looked like they couldn’t wait until I died. And as I looked out this window I see more and more things that makes me feel disdain.

Overall, I’m not sure what I feel anymore. I’m here just for the sake of existing. Yes, perhaps that would be a good way to sum

up how I feel.