No Longer Allergic to You
Language: en
I had what the doctors loosely termed an allergy to happiness. Whenever genuine joy brushed against my life, my body turned on itself. In mild episodes, angry crimson hives erupted across my neck and forearms; in severe ones, my airway constricted, sending me into full-blown anaphylactic shock. My father told me I had cheap blood—that someone born into the gutter was never meant to taste the good life. My younger brother, Devon, scoffed and called me a drama queen, convinced I was manufacturing medical emergencies for attention. Even years later, after I had ground myself to bone to…