I think the challenge has become poisonous.
I look at my body, think of the stains, and how I've tainted myself, the disease within... I think of my future, being my brother's forecasted caregiver, prospecting the sacrifices I'll have to make...
And within my heart, there is a sudden vow...
That I do not want to love.
I never want to love a man again. I don't want any man to love me.
For if he does, his self-sacrifice will have to be so very great, too great.
I can't ask anyone to give up that for me. I can't ask anyone to reconsider their health, or to not have children, or to care for another man in such an intimate way.
Who would I have?
Who would have me?
No one.
And so, this heavy heart of mine concludes that the best thing, the easiest thing, is to close my heart to the faint hope of love, and to come to grips with the path I've laid for myself and the path that's been laid for me.
The love of God must sustain me, for anything less would be asking someone to sacrifice their life for a life with me.
And no one should have to walk with me through this.
