Amy Writes

Last week, I sat in the allergist's office as she injected some 39 tiny needles into my arms. As I waited in the quiet for the track marks to appear and my respiratory enemies to make themselves known, unable to troll facebook because...well, you know..., my mind had time to wander. Why do people subject themselves to this? What was I really going to do with this coming information? The answer, obviously, with all allergens, is that knowledge is power. Once I know what is making me sick, then I will be able to avoid those things, or take measures to prevent a reaction if I know I'm going to be exposed. I will know more about what makes me uniquely me, and understand how I can endure a three month sinus infection by simply breathing the same air as something that my friend can snuggle up to and kiss on the mouth. It occurred to me then that when I wrote that last post, I was essentially declaring an allergy. What may never negatively affect someone else was making me sick.

I saw something this morning that made me want to crawl back under the covers and stay there. Forever. Seriously. For a few seconds, I was ready to abandon everything and just wallow. A feeling of hopelessness so deep that lying in bed for eternity (atop a mattress in need of replacement, at that!) seemed a better option than proceeding with my day, or any day from here on out. For me, today and by the grace of God, it was just a few seconds, but for Robin Williams...for him, yesterday was the end of a few seconds here and a few seconds there and then minutes and days and years, and enough was enough. The pull of freedom overpowered a dark and hopeless perception of reality. Like the rest of the world, I took his death as a personal blow. One desperate hour stole so very many of our generation's greatest characters from us. How could we let this happen...again? How do so many who suffer so deeply slip through the cracks? And like the rest of the world, for a few minutes, I