Fragile. Dainty. Concealed.

It is Friday night, and my friends are preparing for the impending festivities of the evening with catastrophically catchy pop music, vibrant cherry lipstick, and Beyoncé-inspired movements that fail to do Queen Bey justice (my friends are great dancers, but they are white). I stand in the swirl of exaggerated emotions, my face a matted smile and my body a pounding vacancy. My friends are a l i v e. Their motions breathe excitement and jubilance; their voices bloom youth and messiness. I peer at them and I think, I want to feel that.

One my friends catches my glossy eyes and whispers, "Maybe you should sit down."

And then I walk out of the room.

I'm sick. My body is not as strong and healthy as it could be, and my brain works against me more often than it glorifies me. At nineteen, I see the doctor more than I see the Starbucks barista, and that is saying a lot. But, regardless, I am still living. I am still functioning. And I can still take care of myself.

To be ill in college with your friends' health at its peak is not entirely easy. I am not looking for pity at all in this article; instead, I am looking for understanding. So, once again, I say it is not easy. You may expect me to say it is not ideal due to the fact that I am missing out on parties, events, social activities. Girl, can you even go out on the weekends? Girl, should you even be having a fling with someone? Girl, are you okay to leave the hospital? Settle down, guys. I'm a human.

Sickness is serious, and I do not expect those around me to comprehend the correct notions regarding my health all the time. It is normal for people to look at those who are ill and instantly turn on the I-am-so-sorry-sweetie-you-sweet-sweet-strong-little-fighter-let-me-bake-you-an-ensemble-of-muffins eyes. That's almost always expected. I am not annoyed with that portion- I mean, free muffins are cool. What I am a bit exasperated about is the fact that I have evolved into a lifeless piece of porcelain to those around me. Friends who are my age or even younger have for some reason taken ownership of me, and thus have started to resemble a caretaker. They question my actions, they seemingly tuck me in my bed, and they laugh at every single one of my jokes. My jokes are cringe-worthy and nearly lethal 88 percent of the time. Y'all do not need to do that.

The point is this: if you treat an ill person like they are, in fact, ill, she/he will act that way. It mimics Pavlov's conditioning theories, really. Actually it simulates many psychological theories- regression, cognitive dissonance, social conformity. Take, for example, a presidential figure like Donald Trump. His ego and entitlement is only getting stronger due to the fact that his following is also growing. People consider Trump to be a prized possession, and it is evident that he then acts like one. We as humans are influenced. The acrimonious fact of that matter is that it can be negative. Trump, in my opinion, is one example. But more importantly the case of the ill population is staggering. I -as a "member" of that congregation- find myself starting to believe that I am weak. That I am a porcelain doll. That I cannot defeat my illnesses.

But I am not one to be conquered. And I believe that the majority of those who are ill are not ones to be conquered. We are brave, we are resolute, and we are wise, and thus can note that those who view us differently do not fully understand. We are humans, not objects to be placed behind a glass of vulnerability. Our souls need to fed support and love, not subjection and pity. To pity someone evidently is to blockade his/her from complete confidence. I'm not kidding. When I can ostensibly note pity in a friend's eyes, I automatically feel my sense of self shatter. It is as if they only see my illness, not myself. So, instead of regarding me as a weak flower petal, view me as a human. Because that is all I am. Offer me support, and discount your notions to overbear me.

Everyone needs to feel loved and acknowledged. We thrive when our support systems are stable and evident. So, I ask you all to simply be there for those who are sick. I do not expect you to understand the replete essence of the situation; that would be cruel to expect such a thing. I just need the sense that I am normal. That I am not defined by a disease that has settled in me. That I am not that disease. That I am not a medical statistic.

As I traverse back to my room filled with Friday night exuberance, I exhale. I prepare to be stronger than of what I am viewed. I peer at my friends again, and I know that they love me. They are not here to disregard me as a tiny little starfish that shall not ever move. (Honestly, have you ever actually seen a starfish move? I'm certain they do not. Weird reference. Anyway.) They are to support, and that is beautiful.

I smile at their fast, subjugating movements and admire their youth. They are glistening artifacts of livelihood, and I can be, too. A medical condition will not override my ability to be a person.

Support all. Belittle no one. Accept all illness. Change the minds of those around you.

Fierce. Diligent. Courageous.

I am no object; I am only human.