Down With the Sickness

I feel like one of those anemic, cancerous children stuck in St. John's wishing for a normal life. I'm always sick. I was born sick. I live sick. I embrace this sickness.
This is my cocoon. I hide behind it and protect my wet, new-born, beautiful butterfly wings. I'm getting fed up. Honestly. I want out. I want to be free.
All this doctor know-how bullshit never really got me anywhere. They all tell me the same thing. The same over-rehearsed nonsense every time. I'm tired of it.
I'm tired of them feeling responsible. I'm tired of it always being my fault. I'm tried of trying to save myself, combating everyone else simultaneously trying to save me as well. I'm tired of being afraid that this might be the one that kills me. I'm over it.
My head spins a lot. I don't mean pea-soup-vomit Exorcist-style spinning. I get dizzy. It's like the world is spinning but I'm not moving with it.
I'm sick of being sick.