Written by an Anonymous Author | Contributed by Madueke Paschal
Being born in any of the underdeveloped countries of the world is so much of a burden to carry, but much worse is if you were unfortunate enough to be born with a congenital disease. As far back as I can remember, I was always being carried from health center to health center looking for a blood type that matched mine. What charge was I guilty of? I was diagnosed with sickle cell disease. Even more unfortunate, my blood type is A-negative; one of the rarer blood types there are (as I have been told).
Continue reading “To You, the Blood Donor: From a Sickle Cell Survivor”
By Bernard Demaere | Featured Contributor
Everyone must still wonder
How it all happens
Mental illness, by and by
It creeps in on you
It is a process
Of an unloved story.
Continue reading “Mental Illness [a poem]”
You are stronger than you think
braver than you realize
and more loved than you know.
Wishing you all a safe and restful weekend.
By Markie Doczi | Featured Contributor
I remember the day I first became a statistic. I was nineteen years old, and I had a good head on my shoulders. Not being smart was never my problem; it was extreme naiveté that had gotten me here.
My husband had just slapped me across the face for the first time. I felt the weight of the world suddenly bearing down upon my shoulders, and I could see my plans for the future blurring before my eyes as the thought slowly crept across my mind:
I’m that girl.
Continue reading “Statistics: Being a Survivor”
By Brandon Koebernik | Featured Contributor
Mom was schizophrenic.
Dad was bipolar.
What could I get from it?
I found out as I got older.
It started when I joined the military,
Army National Guard.
I don’t believe I was wary,
Of how things could get so hard.
A lot of time had passed.
I started noticing changes,
To the point where I wore a mask,
To hide all of the passing phases.
Continue reading “The Diagnosis [a poem]”