Friday, November 22, 2013

Some Days

Some days you want the world to melt around you, for everything to wash away.
Some days you feel glued to the bed, completely incapable of rising.
Some days you need to shut the blinds and pretend there isn’t a world outside those windows.
Some days you want to deny that there are bills to be paid and children to raise.
Some days you crave complete silence, and even the sound of the alarm clock sends you into a rage.
Some days the bed is your favorite companion, and you hide beneath the sheets from reality.
Some days you hate the skin you live in, and you wish you could shed your sorrow like a snake.
Some days you want to scream at the top of your lungs that it’s all just too much.
Some days you just want to curl up into a ball and cry.
Some days you want none of this – not the crying – not the screaming – not the hiding – but it’s all you can manage because the illness is winning. 
Those days are the ones when you most hate yourself.
Today is one of those days.


  1. I cannot imagine how it feels to walk in your shoes . Remember none of it is your fault; its a medical condition that is resistant to medication, therapy and even prayer. Glad to know you have a great support system on these "horrible" days.

    1. Thank you, Angie. You will do such a wonderful job in your work with others. You have such a calming, genuine nature to your words. I know you mean it and I thank you for your constant support -- both of my illness and my writing.

  2. That you're able to write at all, much less so well, on a day when the grip of the illness feels so tight, is testament to your strength. It seems to me a war, not a battle, and you show admirable stamina. Truly.

    1. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can tell you mean those words truly, and thus they truly mean the world to me. To have others recognize the battle and acknowledge my strength on days when I have difficulty doing so is incredibly heart-warming and gives me hope.

    2. You've got guts, lady. I've seen this monster of an illness up very close, so I have some appreciation, albeit vicarious, of what it takes not just to win but to keep fighting. Keep it up.