Ramblings at 12:20 AM about nothing really of value, probably...

This might sound like a weird comment, but I often talk to myself, but as a different person. Like, my body and me are two different things, working towards a common goal: living. The agreement is this: I keep it alive, and it allows me to live here. It's like growing a plant-- you just go through the daily motions of taking care of something else. When my stomach growls, I tell it I'll tell it that I'll get it something to eat, unless I'm mad at it; then I act like I'm a 7-year-old kid and say something like, "Hush up, I'm not too happy with you right now, either! Can't you see I'm busy? It's not like you've been the nicest thing to me..." Wouldn't it be great if your body could understand you, though? If all you had to do was say, "You're doing this wrong" and your body would get it, and fix itself. It's so weird how it can't. How your mind can know one thing so perfectly, but the rest of you just doesn't get it. Why is that? When I get shot in my dreams, my body feels that. If you think you bump your head, your head swells, even if you never really hit it. I remember in 8th grade reading about a boy who thought fate told him to die, even though it didn't, and he did, simply because he thought he was going to (what a creepy book to read in middle school! And people wonder why I turned out this way...) So, if we get all of the negative effect, why can't we get the reverse be true, in a postive light? Research shows that just believing you'll get well won't actually make you well. Positive thinking helps, but if you're about to die, no amount of "I think I'll live now" will heal you. You can't trick your mind into thinking you have oxygen under water, or tell your heart to beat more than it's willing to. If there's an actual physical element present that prevents you from being healthy, believing won't make it go away. And something so simple as a genetic abnomality, even if you know what happened, won't make itself right. Why is that? But I've got to take better care of my body, because it really is the only one that I have, and it's mine, and not anyone else's, and I'm the only one that can take care of it. I was entrusted with it. Even though I get mad at it a lot, like when it won't do something that I want it to do-- that's probably an everybody thing, and not just a girl who hates her disease. But it's weird how I want to stay in this body forever. I don't want to leave it. It's impossible, I know-- unwise, and probably irresponsible. But it's the first real partnership we know. It took us years to even be able to move our limbs the way we wanted to. And this might sound creepy, but I can so understand why devils, when they get inside someone's body, thrash around and are unable to control it. It's really something we had to master. When my leg was paralyzed, it was such a weird feeling. I tried really hard to move my foot-- nothing. I couldn't feel coldness or pain. Moving it was just something that I couldn't do. Something as easy as moving my foot up and down, I couldn't do. It was weird. For years after I regained movement-- even now, every once in a while, I look down at my foot and move it up and down and see if I can feel my toes, just in case. It's not like it's going to be paralyzed again, but being able to move your feet up and down is an amazing wonderful thing! I'm sure there's things my body doesn't like about me, too. There's a lot of things I don't like about me. But we live with our differences, and we live on. Breathing-- that's a weird concept, too! The fact that a few moments after you're born, your body is doing a job without you thinking about it at all, and it keeps doing that job to the best of its ability for as long as it does. Now that I've thought about breathing, I'm like, "Oh my gosh, breathe! Don't stop breathing..." You're probably doing that, too. Fun, isn't it? You're welcome. Your body has this entire thing that it goes through every day, and it takes a lot from a lot of different things, and people's bodies can be incredibly resilient! But my body was also entrusted with something. Which leads me to another question-- one of those questions that don't really matter, so they'll never actually be answered, but something I still think about-- I wonder if my spirit is taller than my body. Like, if I was taller in the spirit world. Like I said, doesn't matter at all, but still. Okay, body-- let's continue to work together to give me this one chance that I have at life. Because we both know that I'm not one of those people who learns things easily, and I'll have to live at least over 100 years before any of those lessons they've been trying to teach really sticks in my head and changes me. Perhaps I should sleep now.