Submission by Sarah Parker Foster
One of the most devastating experiences stemming from having Huntington’s disease is suddenly becoming invisible to people who once proclaimed to love you and be your friends through thick and thin.
People you laughed and cried with. People you visited with and talked with every day. People you missed during extended periods when treating your own illness prevented you from being present on a daily basis.
I was comforted by supportive relationships and the promise of a forever network in the early days of my disease. And I loved back as much as I have loved any family members.
But now that I seem to have figured out how to properly live an approximation of a normal life, the people who once claimed to love me won’t have anything to do with me.
It is both heartbreaking and frustrating.
Because I lack insight, I do not know what I have done wrong so I can fix it.
I feel that I have crossed some invisible line with people who told me they were my new family.
Some line I don’t know about.
Something that was the last straw for them, and now I don’t exist anymore.
If I can only learn some object lesson that I can apply in the future to save me from the same rejection, the indescribable, almost punitive heartbreak.
If I can learn that which is obvious to everyone but me, something that it is too late for “Sorry” to fix in this instance but can be useful in the years to come, it would be a consolation.
Whatever I did,
I am sorry.
*Please read Sarah Parker Foster's blog - Huntington's Disease and Me