It was evident to him that there was a small palpable lump in his throat for a few years, but his mouth remained shut because he thought it benign. He wasn’t wrong, though, because if he had presented the matter to his doctor at that stage he would have been correct. So, the benign lump sat comfortably for years. I think, maybe even for a considerable amount of time, he forgot about his lump snugly grasping to his esophagus. In this time of ignorance, by consequence of time and repetition, his little lump grew up. However, the graduation was unalarming to him, for he had lost track of the size that the lump had once been. Eventually, the lump began to eat at his health. It grew large veins and dug deeply into his vitality. He approached the brink of death, lump in hand.

He was faced with the questions:

“How far are you willing to go to be alive?”,

And:

“Is it living if you can’t live outside of your bed?”

So, he went to a man with a white coat, and he was given medication to send the lump packing. By then he knew that the treatment might not work, but he knew enough survivors to be sold on the terrible side effects. Vomiting wasn’t new to him, but what he wasn’t prepared for were the dreams he had at night. He would see visions of himself denying himself of his deepest pleasures, begging the lump to evacuate. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he could have avoided ever growing it. The dreams stuck with him throughout the treatment and churned beneath the surface. Sometimes he felt like these dreams were worse than the lump itself.

When he left the hospital, they declared his body lumpless. He grasped suddenly at his lumpless throat, feeling free.

But what I didn’t tell you is that this lump wasn’t in his throat, but in his mind, and it wasn’t a lump, but his identity.

But what I didn’t tell you is that the coat wasn’t white, but red, and the coat wasn’t a coat, but a hoodie.

But what I didn’t tell you is that the survivors he knew were few,

And that his dreams weren’t dreams but his final thoughts.

And that his hand held his left throat because the coroner needed his elbow to fit neatly within the bag on his bathroom floor.

And what I didn’t tell you is that just because he couldn’t feel the lump physically doesn’t mean it was never there.

What I didn’t tell you is that no one else noticed the lump because he hid it well.

Whatever your “Lump” is- don’t let it become cancer.

If it’s ignorance, don’t let it become hatred.

If it’s drug use, don’t let it become an addiction.

If it's flirting, don't let it become cheating.

If it’s depression, don’t let it become suicide.