WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO KNOWS THIS ILLNESS TOO WELL- ME
AND THEN I LOST MY TEMPER
There is a link included because it is my wish for people to understand this *FAKE* illness which plagues more people than anyone realizes. The term *fake* is used sarcastically because it is anything but.
Today I had a run in with someone who claims to love me. After an explanation that my life was currently overwhelming and it took all of my strength to talk for even five minutes. I got a sarcastic;” Okay I can take a hint.?” For the first time in weeks it seemed to be a good idea to sit down and cry. What is so hard to understand? Probably everything to someone who does not live in emotional or physical pain 24/7 will be. After teaching for twenty five years it was my vow to never use text talk. Well, guess what? I use it and can’t apologize for getting the message across as quickly as possible. Is it selfish to say? I have to take care of myself for awhile?? Things will never be like they were with me ever again. My goal is not to gain pity, attention or anything other than understanding. There are days when the overwhelming drain of the world has to take a backseat. This comes from my heart. Hell, my life was dancing, performing, teaching, raising a family, keeping a home, etc. Why would anyone assume that my heart is not broken by these flares that leave me feeling almost hopeless? It’s the same for anyone with a debilitating illness whether physical, mental or both. After awhile you look for a way to survive. If someone needs to back away, block or not be involved, how can we give fault? I have one person blocked, not because I hate them, I’m just very tired of never knowing from one day to the next whether they’re my friend that day or not. Letting someone move on for their own sanity is perhaps the kindest thing a friend can do for someone they want to hold onto with both hands.
When people are forced to deal with illness they do many different things: try to help or at least listen, research and try to find all the info they can on the subject (you probably have done that yourself) but it’s very kind, or block you mentally or in any way they can and run like hell. Illness is scary, it hits too close to our own human frailty. The first time someone close to your age dies; that’s the feeling. I’m not speaking from any professional agenda, just my heart. This could be about any chronic illness one may have to deal with whether it be as the person suffering or the one who has to deal with that person. My son sheepishly asked last night if I was okay. He said, “Mom, the sleeping sign is on your door a lot lately, are you going to die?” My heart broke in two as I hugged him and promised him that this was a temporary setback. I told him, someday, but for now you’re stuck with me. No one wants to be ill, it’s just life. As humans we’re doing the best that we can. Some do a better job than others. © 2010 SUSAN JOHNSTON OWEN
Papers strew the bed,
there's no time to do the work.
She is lost in pain,
arguing with her body,
when will the strain disappear?
Raising arms she cries,
clutter won't go away.
How does she begin?
Overwhelmed by what to do,
rolling over perhaps to sleep.
Hours go by no peace,
Slowly she moves toward the job.
Sitting, she sobs hard,
looking at the room she sighs.
When did this happen to her?
Her life needs a victory,
refusing to lose her freedom,
inch by inch, she begins.
I TRY SO HARD- I CAN'T DO IT ANYMORE-ESTOY CANSADA
He Never Asked
Unable to face reality, was the lie for him?
Was he the first to make her take pause,
knowing pain she would make him claim?
The reflection in the mirror is beautiful,
only she knows of her gruesome ghosts.
Scars on her torso seek her attention;
no one may bombard her powerful wall.
One day she let her guard go for a minute,
never to open her wounds, but her wiles.
Laughing needed, the past held her torment,
wanting her own,"wish street", dreams in vain.
Bottling alarm, she took the life given,
aware of her fate, she wrings the days dry.
Knowing her fault in not telling him more,
no surprises when he slammed the door.
Tears had consumed her, she knew she'd die.
If he had pushed for her genuine reality
would have seen, not be defeated, thrown.
If he had confronted, stopped playing sleuth,
he'd not feel betrayed, he'd know the truth.
© 2010 sjo/jazz
If you got this far, thank you.
All I am is human.