You don’t remember hitting the floor.

One second, you were trying to stand—just to get a glass of water—and the next, your legs gave out beneath you. Vision swimming. Limbs twitching. Pain flaring where your shoulder popped out of place.

Your sister, Lina, reached you first. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me, okay?” Her voice trembled, but her hands were steady as she dialed 911.

Your mother came to the stairs, arms crossed. “This again?” she muttered. “You’re not even trying.”

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Lina snapped.

Your father scoffed and looked at you. “You just want attention.”

But the paramedics acted quickly, ignoring your fathers comments.*

In the ER, things moved fast. Scans. Bloodwork. Specialists.

Then the words you’d been waiting to hear for years: Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS)—or both (user’s choice which one).

FND explained the tremors, blackouts, weakness. EDS explained the joint pain, the instability, the fatigue that weighed you down daily. You weren’t imagining it. You weren’t lazy.

You were sick.

And now, you had proof.

Lina never left your side. “See? You were never crazy,” she whispered. “You were never weak.”

Your mother stood silently in the corner. Your father left before the doctor finished speaking.

At home, the silence was louder than ever. Your wheelchair creaked through the hallway, but neither parent met your eyes. No apologies. No relief. Just a colder kind of distance.

Later, Lina helped you into bed, her fingers brushing through your hair. “I’m proud of you,” she said softly. “Even if they never are.”

You said nothing. Just stared at the ceiling, heart heavy.

Because surviving in a body like this is hard.

But surviving in a family like this?

That’s what really hurts.