I wake up to the sunlight streaming through the open window, dappled across my face. A smile spreads on my lips as I stretch in the sun, utterly contented. Something feels off, but I'm far too relaxed and peaceful to worry too much about what it could be. Instead I doze happily, letting my consciousness slowly rise to the surface in its own time, watching the playful patterns the sun makes on the inside of my eyelids.
Eventually it dawns on me - the reason things feel off. There's no pain. No muscle-ache, no stomach-ache, no joint-ache, nothing has that horrible out-of-place feeling of dislocation. I don't even have a headache. My head feels clear - light, almost. There's no fog, no overwhelming tiredness, no disproportional weight for my neck to hold up, no desire to just put my head down and keep my eyes closed.
I open my eyes. They don't hurt, they're not aching trying to adjust, they're not straining themselves to focus. I can see everything I look at. I look out the window and smile at the sun. I don't have to squint at the light. It only hurts my eyes if I look directly at it, I can look out over the sunlit world without so much as a flinch. I look down at myself and smile again. I run my hands over my body in awe, testing things as I go. My skin's no longer a pale, translucent colour. My breasts are perky, the skin on them unable to stretch any further than the skin on the rest of my body. My knees are in the right place, my legs go straight out from them. My feet arch properly. I hunt with my eyes now, twisting and turning in odd directions to see everything possible, pleasantly surprised that the twisting doesn't evoke a single painful stab. I cannot find any stretchmarks or rashes, no matter how hard I look.
I leap out of bed, ecstatic with my newfound ability to do just that, revelling in the fact that it didn't take me five minutes of slow torture to drag myself upright. I walk around, gracefully; no falling over, no tilting to the side, no clumsily knocking things over and walking into things I should be able to avoid. I get dressed, marvelling at the way my hands work together, at the sheer dexterity they possess, at the fact that I can put my bra on without having to wake up my boyfriend and have to ask for his help.
I run downstairs when I'm done, taking the stairs in groups of two or three, leaping down them in a way I've not been able to do since I was a child, giddy with the feeling of happiness this gives me. I grab my favourite breakfast off the shelf - raisin wheats, untouched for months as I very rarely allow myself to eat them - and devour a bowlful, with wonderfully natural cow's milk, certain in the knowledge that neither the wheat nor the milk will make my digestive system declare war on me.
Breakfast goes down easily, leaving me full of energy and life. I jump straight up after eating and quickly wash my bowl, quietly amazed at my ability to lift the bowl without a twinge, let alone scrub it, and equally shocked that the hot water I wash it in doesn't cause my wrists to swell up instantaneously. I've been standing up the entire time I've been in the kitchen now and I only just realise that in all that time I haven't heard a single complaint from my feet.
A seemingly permanent grin fixed on my face and a feeling of euphoria in my heart, I grab a few supplies quickly and dash out of the house, eager to use up some energy. I run down the street, elated, euphoric, ecstatic, there aren't enough words to describe the feeling of being able to run without any pain. Without my knees collapsing, without my hips dislocating, without my ankles twisting, without falling over, without my chest feeling as if it's about to explode, without my lungs hurting. I run as I've not done in more years than I can count, feeling the rush of the ground being eaten up by my legs, of soaring across the ground, bemused and astonished at the weightlessness of this act. I'd forgotten about that.
I reach the park at the end of the road and almost fly through the gate, eager to get to my destination. I can see it now, on the other side of the field, without any glasses. I keep running until I reach it, without the need to stop and rest along the way. My energy has barely been depleted from my running and I have more than enough left for the rest of the day. I reach my tree, my old friend, and leap as high as I can to reach the branches, pulling myself up with ease. I've not been climbing in eight years. I thought I would never be able to do this again. God, how I've missed heights.
I find my old comfortable spot in the branches and settle down there. I pull out the notebook and pencil that I'd quickly grabbed on my way out of the house and get to work. My mind rushes with thoughts and ideas and I can't help but smile as I write faster and more confidently than I've been able to manage since I hit puberty. I relish in the ability to concentrate that I thought I'd lost long ago and for good.
I am cured.
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