I want to write, so this is where I will. It won't be witty or enlightening. I hope it is comfortable, I want to find someplace to write where I can be myself, not have to project anything and still be read.
I am at a loss. I do not know where I stand any longer, if there were a solid beside my body. My body. My body my mind. It is all very opaque now. Funny word for something rather unimportant.
What I mean is- there are phases. There are phases of shock in which the body struggles to cope and can not. Alacrity comes to mind, only because it means liveliness and contains the word lack. It is of alacrity.
The phases of shock, of one stupid mistake lasting weeks. God. My body does not respond well.
I feel like I am beginning to loose my hair, I do not know how true this is. It is thinning and my thyroid is attacking itself while my eyebrows are falling off. My face is turning yellow. My guess is throat organ or liver, take your pick.
I am very afraid. It is not enticing. Pain is something I have been drawn to in the past, but not this kind of pain. At times, it feels worthless. Pain that is worth nothing and will teach you nothing. Pain that is indicative of nothing but a message, a swan song of dying bacteria. You are housing a dying colony within your body and when they begin to shudder and crack, they pulse through your flesh as opposing forces and you can
No, no. This is far too dramatic. I do not want to romanticize what I feel, I do not want to debase it like that any longer.
I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid.
Third time's a charm.
Only when my body is shot do I realize how sick I am. I am horribly, horribly sick. I am not the sickest in my doctor's practice, this she told me. A woman in her thirties with two children who doesn't sleep is her sickest patient. I do not know her name. I am incredibly ill. I AM SICK
There, I said it now we can move on.
My friends do not understand. I do not say this in a degrading way, only as fact. In fact, many of them do not realize that I am confined strictly to my house now. Sometimes to bed. It frustrates me deeply. Part of me wants to shout and curse, BE HEARD. But, I am tired of having to project my life. To package it in some way. Now, I guess, I look quite ill so my face speaks for itself.
I am alone. I am also tired of saying that and hearing, "No, you have me." Well, yes. Yes, and thank you. I appreciate it as much as I can. Or, I try to on good days. However, I am not referring to support. I am referring to understanding. An understanding difficult to come by. Something in which I do not have to inject and ejaculate optimism when I explain my life. My life. This is my LIFE
Here is something about my friends that I am proud of:
About six of them formed their own professional theater group for high school actors. They are in the paper, winning awards, and quite successful. I love their willingness, their passion. Yet, I feel left behind. This shames me.
I HATE BEING SICK I HATE IT
I HATE IT
I am tired of playing pretty. I am tired. I am tired. I am tired.
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I am at a loss. I do not know where I stand any longer, if there were a solid beside my body. My body. My body my mind. It is all very opaque now. Funny word for something rather unimportant.
What I mean is- there are phases. There are phases of shock in which the body struggles to cope and can not. Alacrity comes to mind, only because it means liveliness and contains the word lack. It is of alacrity.
The phases of shock, of one stupid mistake lasting weeks. God. My body does not respond well.
I feel like I am beginning to loose my hair, I do not know how true this is. It is thinning and my thyroid is attacking itself while my eyebrows are falling off. My face is turning yellow. My guess is throat organ or liver, take your pick.
I am very afraid. It is not enticing. Pain is something I have been drawn to in the past, but not this kind of pain. At times, it feels worthless. Pain that is worth nothing and will teach you nothing. Pain that is indicative of nothing but a message, a swan song of dying bacteria. You are housing a dying colony within your body and when they begin to shudder and crack, they pulse through your flesh as opposing forces and you can
No, no. This is far too dramatic. I do not want to romanticize what I feel, I do not want to debase it like that any longer.
I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid.
Third time's a charm.
Only when my body is shot do I realize how sick I am. I am horribly, horribly sick. I am not the sickest in my doctor's practice, this she told me. A woman in her thirties with two children who doesn't sleep is her sickest patient. I do not know her name. I am incredibly ill. I AM SICK
There, I said it now we can move on.
My friends do not understand. I do not say this in a degrading way, only as fact. In fact, many of them do not realize that I am confined strictly to my house now. Sometimes to bed. It frustrates me deeply. Part of me wants to shout and curse, BE HEARD. But, I am tired of having to project my life. To package it in some way. Now, I guess, I look quite ill so my face speaks for itself.
I am alone. I am also tired of saying that and hearing, "No, you have me." Well, yes. Yes, and thank you. I appreciate it as much as I can. Or, I try to on good days. However, I am not referring to support. I am referring to understanding. An understanding difficult to come by. Something in which I do not have to inject and ejaculate optimism when I explain my life. My life. This is my LIFE
Here is something about my friends that I am proud of:
About six of them formed their own professional theater group for high school actors. They are in the paper, winning awards, and quite successful. I love their willingness, their passion. Yet, I feel left behind. This shames me.
I HATE BEING SICK I HATE IT
I HATE IT
I am tired of playing pretty. I am tired. I am tired. I am tired.