Why

The human instinct to cry in response to overwhelming sadness is one that perplexes me a great deal. In no way does shedding salty tears reverse a tragedy, console those in distress, or better a situation that seems absolutely hopeless. If anything, crying only deepens the chasm of heartbreak and sadness already plaguing its victim. Why then are we as a species programmed to worsen our own states of depression by blubbering like children? Red, patchy skin, puffy eyes, and streams flowing from my eyes. Why has this become my reality every time I lay my head on my pillow?

What I don't understand is how all the strength, determination, and happiness I feel during the day disappears the instant I am left alone to my thoughts. Why do I spend hours thinking of all the experiences I'm missing out on? Why do I feel so left behind and forgotten? Why do I torture myself by replaying every final interaction I had with friends at school  counting the days until I see them again and then wonder if ever? Then I shake that from my consciousness knowing in my heart and mind I will defeat this disease. I will win the civil war raging on inside.

I know better than all this. I know this stems from my ridiculous fears that seem to manifest themselves in nightmares while I'm still awake. I know I have no reason to feel neglected with all the love I know and have established around me. But it still seems to return to the essential question.  Why is this happening to me.

I may have made some negative progress this time but I had to acknowledge that this is actually happening to me. I had to understand that as more and more of my hair comes out, I will get looks from strangers. I had to know that no matter how many times I imagine the reunion with my friends and my life back at school, it will not come any faster. These are all things I know. And if I know all these things, then why am I persistently bothered by why? Why. Why...