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In the last four years I have experienced pains that I never thought would come to me. I have felt the searing flames of over-active nerve endings fire off throughout my body. I have taken steps that felt like red-hot coals replaced the cool hospital floors. I have felt the sting of countless needles failing to find their mark, wriggling around in a futile effort to find the crimson life. I have felt the clawing ache of ruined joints, making an effort to dissuade my every move. I have felt the burning sensation of medicine meant to eradicate invasions, slowly atrophy my veins to uselessness. I have felt what happens when the needle meant to find the fluid, finds the spine instead. Through all of that, never has anything hurt more, than loving a person that will always try to keep you close, yet make you feel so far away.

You had me feeling young again today.

Every ache in my bones seemed to forget

That the sun had risen three hours ago.

I felt lighter on my feet,

The laughter on my lips tasted sweet.

With every word you seem to heal

Every nerve that was screaming.

But how long can this last?

Are you here to stay?

Will you leave if I get too close?

Or is this something worth holding?

When was the last time you relied on five milligrams of anything?

It is such a seemingly insignificant amount,

That I go crazy trying to figure out

Why it refuses to let me move on.

Every time we try something new,

Its the same old story,

No appetite, joints are screaming.

The mornings are the worst,

Begging for the evening

Begging for the reason why.

Back in the ER, fill me up with more.

Ask me all the same questions,

No, I’m not from a broken home,

I just got a little booboo,

nothing you can’t fix.

As long as you have prednisone.

Back to where I started, at least, so it seems.

Riding that roller coaster once again.

The ups and downs come on like a sickness

Sometimes slow, others, it can be vicious.

At times I try to see it as a trial,

Something that can be beat.

A game that I can win without cheats

then I wake up in the morning in a daze,

Searching for the bottle through morning haze,

Take out that five milligrams and swallow,

Maybe it’ll be better tomorrow.

For anyone that is struggling with chronic illness, you are not alone. And it gets better. It is slow, and some days you might feel exactly like this poem, but it gets better. As you learn to adapt and find new ways to enjoy the things you used to. Don’t let the bumps in the road take you out. Hang in there 🙂

Little yellow bottle sitting on the windowsill,
asking if I’m ready for my little white pill.
Will it be just one today, or two or three?
If I had a say in things it’d already be empty.
Yet I try to be good in spite of the pain,
Not worry about what’s coursing through my withered veins
that can barely rise to the occasion
When it comes time to get filled up again.
“It’s the best option we have” they say,
while I grin and utter “I’m okay”.
It’s my only option,
So I guess I’ll keep walking this way.