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The veins on my hand stand out. It feels numb, cold and strange. In many ways, it is not my hand at all. Punctured and poked with so many holes, in order to feed my body, it has lost all its strength. My stomach rumbles; craving for some comfort food, and yet all I have by my side is bland porridge and cold milk. The first gulp I take feels like cold metal entering through dead, rusty pipes into an old warehouse. What did they do to me? Did they strip me of all my senses? Can I no longer taste, smell, see like before? My eyes burn like I have never used them before. I try to take a few steady steps before stumbling back. Parched throat and hungry stomach add to the sapping weakness that makes up my singular structure.
Sickness can do so much to a human being. It can rebuild him, change him, or destroy him. Or like in my case, it can chew him up completely and spit him out; leaving the remaining to be sucked out by the merciless world. All I can do is wait!