I guess, emotionally, I’ve come to a stage where I feel “checked out.” Nearly everything I do when It comes to talking to people, attempting to write, and even watching a movie, I feel as if there are no feelings left right now. Emotional drained, whatever you want to call it, that’s how I’m feeling. Really, I have no idea why I’ve reached such a weird spot, but I have. I think back to The Fault in Our Stars, and of course I become like every teenage girl, melting into a puddle on the floor when Augustus comes on-screen. But for me, it goes deeper than the superficial feelings of “he’s cute” and “he says all the right things.” For me, it strikes a deep chord of acceptance. He doesn’t care about Hazel Grace’s oxygen, in fact he teases her, helps her, and understands that her lungs suck at being lungs. He understands the seriousness of being checked into the hospital, and the mental torture we go through as patients not to be “grenades.” He doesn’t care, and he’s still there with his non-lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and escorting her around.
I wonder sometimes whether it takes the sick to know the sick. The whole, “takes one to know one” phrase has crossed my mind many times. Diagnosed at eighteen, I was fresh out of high school, and had literally been a so-called adult for maybe a week. I was still a kid at heart, and so was the kid I had been dating for a long time. I guess you could say that Pulmonary Hypertension was the equivalent of being T-boned by a semi…for him. I saw this so-called semi coming for a mile now. I felt my lungs, I felt how much work it was just to stay awake all day; I knew it was coming. The mental side in which not only attacked me, and tricked me into hating everything, attacked him too. Who expects two eighteen year olds to deal with surgeries, oxygen machines, mental acceptance, and acceptance of each other? It’s almost impossible. You really don’t even know yourself yet, but all you supposedly know is “I hate myself, and I should die as how my body intended.” Yea, a giant bolder in a tiny pool. It’s not fun. What was shock, turned into superficial acceptance and support while trying to figure out what was going on, which turned into being tired, figuring out how tough this is, finally understanding these shitty lungs aren’t going away, boredom, moving on, making fun of the disease, non acceptance, and separation.
There was no Augustus. There never has been. I don’t blame him, it was a lot for me to handle, let alone him. As I meet all these new supposed “men” they still don’t understand. Not to show hate, but they don’t ask the questions, they really don’t comprehend that taking on me is taking on an emotional Olympic course. “It’s no big.” While I want someone to treat it as if it’s “no big”, I also want that balance of they completely understand how big this lung monster can actually be. Just saying. They have no idea. Maybe if they did, they would run like him. I really don’t blame him, and sometimes the little things he did of showing his superficial “Augustus” side can make me smile. But I stopped trying to explain my lungs a long time ago to certain guys; It takes more oxygen than it should. Overall, I just loved the story of Hazel and Augustus. I think it fell together beautifully because they both knew what it was like to be trapped in a failing body, and to hate yourself.
Only the sick understand the sick.
Enjoy our song of the week, Let Me In from the Fault in Our Stars official soundtrack.