The skin I wear
The skin I wear is a covering
for my bones and flesh
and I’m glad it holds it in
but wonder sometimes
why and sigh
about the pain I’m in.
It’s not as if I’ve fallen
or didn’t watch where I was going,
I was plodding on quite well I thought
and tried to do what I’d been taught –
I enjoyed it all in a way.
Can I use a vacuum cleaner?
Why do you ask? I used to
work full time and be the breadwinner
and I can’t help wondering whether
you would have asked that of a man.
I can somehow think you know
I’m still here in a way,
I think so, anyway.
i often say i wouldnt wish this disease on my worst enemy. i wouldnt. no one deserves this. but i am so glad you understand, that i am not Alone… i wouldnt wish this on my worst enemy, so Why am I glad my best friend has it? i am the worlds biggest hypocrite…
This is shocking.
I am not an object and I am not broken but
the pain tells me differently.
This is chronic.
Why am I not adjusted yet?
It comes and goes, it’s all my consciousness
all I want is to lie down.
And when I come into work I lie about my days off.
Why do I look tired? Maybe,
that’s just how I look. Maybe,
they think I am just not very ‘together’…
This invisible pain cannot be talked about because that will only make work relations worse-
because they never know how to interact with me after, but
my anxiety aches like the bits between my legs.
I am not used to this.
I am managing well and privately proud, but sometimes
I wish they all knew.
I guess all superheroes probably feel like this sometimes.
I bet there’s a lot of us.
From our window, the clouds seemed static, frozen. Orange-and-green taxicabs drove through the slush six floors down. Tilly whimpered, buzzed for the nurse, asked for Dilaudid, whispered “good morning.” Swaddled in her sheets, she breathed hard. Phenolic air. She asked me how I was feeling. We lolled in our beds, our mothers asleep in their wooden chairs, wrapped in winter coats, their heads dangling crooked.
Tilly and I began our daily walk—we could only ever circle the floor twice. We linked arms, dragged IV poles with our free hands. The hospital hallway was long, off-white, off-world, a nearly invisible trail of half-existence. Fluorescent light faked endless daytime. Supposedly, there is also no night in heaven. With every step, that sorry tube stabbed me deeper in the gut like a helpless thief. Blood drained downward into a bag wrapped around my knee. My insides, bared to all who passed by.
Pain is a pre-requisite to Creation. Take for example the process of bringing forth life. Albeit it is a painful process, nevertheless, it is also a glorious creation. History stands testimony to the fact that all the great ones who ever walked the Earth have
risen to great heights walking through the aisle of pain. “Love till it hurts” is the beautiful message bequeathed to us by Mother Teresa. I consider myself fortunate to have known a few “chosen” ones who have borne the cross of their lives with a brave heart.
Their lives have made me understand the significance of the maxim of “Grace Under Pressure “. Living in the proximity of pain, at this watershed moment of my life, I endeavour to explore the uncharted realm of Metaphysics and as I inch towards it silently,
I experience the power of the Void in my own quaint way.
We pay the cable from the reel in staggers,
jerk the squiggly line between the bushes,
wake the minor aches, the none too vicious
graters in the knee that love to grab us.
Nothing lightweight in the gear for this one:
the Black and Decker like a struggling toddler;
the squeaky derricks of our legs manoeuvred
round the pain to give the tools a platform.
Though it’s money saved; and while the gripe’s curtailed
we crouch to proud, redundant, bent old nails
which squeal against the grinder, scattering in the nettles
tiny marigolds of blistered metal
until the shanks resign, the flat heads flying.
But how to rise, from those smoking stumps of iron?
The difference between lowercase-p, pain, and uppercase-P, Pain, is huge.
Bigger than just a shift-key should make it.
The difference between “Yeah, let’s go on a hike today!” and “I can’t walk today.”
The difference between pain that ends, and Pain that just backs off for a while.
The difference between the morning pills and the afternoon pills and the evening pills and the night pills and the pills and the pills and the injections and the appointments and the Pain.
The differences between the screaming in your head and the screaming locked in the gilded cage in your throat, and the knowledge that it is a bird that will never die, it will just remain in you, like a bird throwing itself against a window pane.Yes, pain and Pain are so completely different, I can’t believe they’re even spelled that same way.
M.E. destroys one life
and ruins more.
Fatigue replaces rage.