Mind of a killer

You're born with me. I am cruel. I will eat this body excruciatingly painfully. I will make it suffer beyond imagination. I will attack the vital organs and damage them permanently.  It's my mission to kill this body - slowly and painfully. In the cruelest way. I will slowly eat away at the lungs until they are so damaged that they can't function. My plan of attack is to fill every hole in the lungs with thick, sticky mucus until they are so blocked that air cannot fill them. I will block the sinuses with my mucus and cause major inflammation. The owner of this body can either go through pain to fight me or suffocate and die from me. My mucus isn't like any other - not like a cold or flu. It's sticky, thick, green and full of bacteria that you will struggle to kill. If I'm lucky enough, you'll bring my mucus up with blood - this is a sign of my accomplishment of shredding the lungs apart bit by bit. I'll also attack the pancreas. I hate seeing this body healthy. The owner of this body will try to over rule me with hundreds of tablets. This body struggles to gain weight and it won't possess the vitamins it needs. I will kill this frail body, but before it dies, I will torture it everyday.

I will trick this body into believing that it can start a family - have children but secretly, I have already taken that privilege away. Shattering hopes and dreams is my fortè. This body may go through IVF against my own will, but only on the rare occasion will it succeed. I won't be able to attack the new little body but I'll make sure I leave my footprints there in hope if another one of my kind meeting those footprints and starting this cycle over again.

In summer, I will dehydrate this body at extreme speeds. Speeds that nobody without me could understand. I will push white salt crystals put of the skin, causing irritation. By dehydrating this body, I am succeeding in weakening the organs, the lungs are drying and this body is dying. If I really wanted to, I could dehydrate this body and kill it instantly.

This body hasn't given up the fight. It goes to a hospital every 3 months for weeks on end. If I work overtime - sometimes even more. The skin cries in pain from all the needles and the body is tested while having so many strong antibiotics. The antibiotics are used to attack me and eventually, for a short while, it feels better. Stronger. But it's only my opportunity to attack this body harder then ever before. As the body gets older, my army grows stronger, allowing me to cause more pain. Sometimes, I am able to damage this body so much that it needs 24 hour oxygen replacement. Eventually, even walking will become a chore and exercise will only kill the body quicker. I have made the muscles so weak, and destroyed the minds of many.

I have let this body survive, given them pity to some point. They are now bed ridden, on oxygen and their mind is almost lost. They are surviving on morphine and other opioids just to get through the day. They are in levels of pain that no simple mind could understand. That is my eventual pity.. If I'm feeling generous.

You die with me.
I am Cystic Fibrosis.