The following winter was a tough one, to say the least. I continued to struggle with reoccurring Pseudomonas in my lungs and sinuses. I'd get rid of it with a combination of phage therapy and antibiotics, and I'd be healthy for a few weeks, only for the infection to return someway or another. We didn't know it at the time, but our house had sunk into the ground so much over the decades, that a few pipes were crushed under the foundation. The water from those pipes leaked into the walls, where mold, mildew, and Pseudomonas thrived. Parts of the house did smell musty, but we could never figure out the source.
As a result, I continued to get sick over and over again, forcing me to stay with my grandparents or with my stepdad, Clarke, while my mom stayed home and did her best to find where my illnesses were coming from. My mom's boyfriend-at-the-time was also anti-vaccination, and that year's flu season was pretty nasty. I was vaccinated, but that didn't stop me from almost getting a severe case of the flu from him. I ended up staying at Clarke's for six weeks while taking antibiotics, anti-flu medication, and continuing my phage treatments. All while I still kept up in school.
I don't think I can ever express how thankful I was (and am) for being able to finish high school online, especially since I got along so well with my teacher. I wouldn't have been able to graduate high school without being able to attend school from the comfort of wherever I was staying, often while still in my pajamas. It enabled me to take care of myself while also working towards my goal of graduating high school. Now that I think about it, it's hard to deny that getting into online school was what many would call a "God thing". Sure, I had to suffer for it. But, to be honest, the suffering was worth it. Maybe, just maybe, I can say I am glad that I suffered.
But, if you were to ask me if online high school was worth it while I was in the midst of hell, I don't think I would've said, "yes". Back then, I still secretly hoped that I would one night go to sleep and never wake up, for the pain I was suffering was often unbearable.
On top of Pseudomonas, I was showing signs of severe inflammation throughout my body, and I was also struggling with low blood sugar issues. It got to the point where I was once again pondering if life was even worth living. Thankfully, I never got close to thinking about hurting myself. But, I was just so damn exhausted. I was sure my body would eventually give up, much like my spirit had.
Yet, throughout all of this, I was being prayed for. While I had no faith at all, others in my life did have faith, and they prayed for me every day and night. They made sure I knew this too, but was once again reacting to their prayers with open hostility. I refused to believe in a God who was supposedly all good and all loving, yet still allowed people like myself to survive. What was the point of all that suffering? Why was I chosen to be born a genetic fuck-up? If God had actually knit me in my mother's womb, knowing exactly who I'd turn out to be, wouldn't that make Him evil and sadistic? What good and loving Creator would create someone like me? A sick, terrified, pissed-off, dying kid. What the fuck was God thinking when He created me?
Ironically, as bitter and resentful as I was, my heart was beginning to crack open just a tiny bit. But, it was enough for God to get His foot in the door. I didn't even realize I was becoming less bitter until I caught myself praising God for the first time, about a year and a half after my heart began to soften ever so slightly.
