Backstory: I began texting a guy that I did not know super well, but had seen around a few times and knew a few of his friends. We knew each other well enough to exchange numbers, but not well enough that he knew about my illnesses.

Dear Boy,

We were not dating, we were not even "serious" yet, and that is why I cannot understand how my sickness affected you so much that you could not even carry on a conversation with me through text any longer.

You were funny, charming, kind, and I began to trust you; I guess that's where the flaw was. I finally felt comfortable enough with you to confess my truth -- my illness. Each day we talked I felt as if I was lying to you by not telling you about everything that was wrong with me, but I feared that me being ill would change things, so I pushed it off as long as I could. Once I finally built up the courage to tell you, my fear became reality. Your response to me finally opening up to you was, "I don't even know what those are." And those seven empty words were the last I heard from you.

I would like to apologize to you.

I am sorry that the wheelchair overshadows my personality that you, yourself, labeled as radiant.

I am sorry that my sense of humor is not good enough to make you forget the long list of diagnoses.

I am sorry that my smile you called wonderful is sometimes made crooked by pain.

I am sorry that you think all of the things that are wrong with me outweigh the things that you thought were great about me.

I am sorry that I am not able to walk away from these illnesses like you were able to.

But most of all, I am sorry that your ego is bigger than all of my problems combined.