Gemotions

He had ripped the letter in half, then half again. Then into pieces so small they resembled confetti. The words, the diagnoses, the definitive confirmation… they were a personal affront. The unfairness of it all. The injustice. Everything felt like a betrayal.

The therapist, a well-meaning woman with a soothing voice, had offered platitudes, had spoken of coping mechanisms. He wanted to throw up.

He'd stormed out of the office, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt as if he was on the verge of exploding.

He found himself pacing aimlessly through the park, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.

He noticed a woman, also alone, also pacing. She was muttering under her breath.

He approached her, unable to control himself. "The life-sucking… the debilitating… the bloody…"

She finished for him. "The myelofibrosis?"