Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the support group meeting, mirroring the storm inside Amelia. She stared at the speaker, a woman who seemed to glide through life with a sickening ease. She spoke of acceptance, of finding peace with the illness, of seeing the ‘silver linings.’ Amelia wanted to scream.

The metallic tang of the room was overwhelming, the smell of sterile wipes and desperation hanging heavy in the air. Amelia felt her stomach churn. Her hands, clasched tight in her lap, were cold.

Later, the speaker mentioned a new study. She was talking to another participant. They sounded enthusiastic. Amelia left without a word. She knew she was not like them.