Underneath the Sycamore Tree

by B. Celeste

Chronic illness gives little wiggle room for peace of mind. Having “good” days doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there; it just means that it’s not as noticeable—like a limb that’s sort of falling asleep but still functioning. Days where I have energy can end abruptly for no reason other than fate playing games with me.

Inside the sad shell of my agonizing existence is a battlefield, and I’m on both sides holding trigger-ready guns waiting for the bullets to leave the barrels.

“I find that the books with the saddest endings are the best because they make us feel. We don’t always get a happily ever after no matter how hard we work for it.”

“The thing about chronic illness is that you never know what you’re going to feel like when you wake up every day. It’s a new battle, because the good days don’t mean that you don’t hurt. They just mean that you can tolerate the pain better.

There are lots of quotes about time. Time is fleeting. Time is valuable. Time shouldn’t be wasted. The trouble with time is that we only think we have it. It’s an illusion—an excuse to linger in existence. Some people use it to be reckless; others use it to hold themselves back.

“It turns the person you love more than anything in the world into somebody different. It isn’t just a physical transformation but a mental and emotional one. When it takes over, there’s very little in their control they can do.