God, why did this have to happen to me?

I sat in the bathroom, curled up in a ball, and sobbing harder than ever. The floor was cold and so was the world. I looked at the bathtub in remembrance of how I used to play with my Barbie dolls as my mom tried to help me bathe. Those were the easy days; crying when your favorite TV show came to a close, having indoor pool parties on rainy days, and fighting endlessly with your little brother. Can’t I go back to being 3? Being 16 was hard. Tears slid down my face like a rapid river; never ending and potentially ruthless. The crying only made the pain that much worse, but at a point of utter despair, I just didn’t care. The pain reminded me of what was once good. I rested my back on the locked door behind me. With intentions of keeping predators out, I felt as if I was locked in a cage of false hope. As long as I can remember I have been told that I can do anything I want to do in this world. I could be the first female president or be the best hockey player on Earth, but now I know the truth; I can’t do anything. My life was ruined. This is how it is going to end; a miserable, slow, and violent death of what could have been. Now what?

I press my palms to the damp floor as I stand up. I stare in the mirror and am humiliated by the mascara that has smeared down my face. What's the point of wearing make up if I am just going to cry it all off? I rub the black gel off of my cheeks, using the tears that are still dripping down my face to make the smudges disappear.

I don't know when life became so hard. I don't know when my life became a series of doctors appointments and diagnoses. I don't know why bad things happen. All I know is on that day, that I curled up on the bathroom floor, was the first mental breakdown I had that marked the beginning of what was going to be the hardest obstacle I would ever have to go through. That moment of weakness was the first time I let myself believe in the possibility that I could be sick, and I was.