I am stuck in bed yet again. Unable to feed myself. Unable to move. The sun beats outside my window. I hear people laughing as they walk by my condo building. I imagine all the things “normal” people are doing on this summer day…working, driving, exercising, playing, walking, dining out on patios, etc. All things I cannot do. No, I am a prisoner in my body listening and watching the world pass by.
Oh how the hours drag. I listen to CBC radio and try to distract myself. I learn about the ceasefire in Gaza. Oh if only the pain in my body could have a ceasefire. I go on to Instagram only to see that my photo group’s topic for the day is “reflection” and realize that I can’t go anywhere to take a picture of a reflection and I sure wouldn’t want to take a photo of my reflection right now. I haven’t showered for two days. The pain I am in is clearly visible on my face. The fact that I didn’t sleep last night is evident with the dark circles under my eyes.
I go on Netflix and try to lose myself in the TV Series “The Killing”. Although the lead character is experiencing deep emotional pain I tell her I would trade my life for hers in a second. She can walk, sit and stand. She can leave the confines of her four walls.
The series ends and I stare out my bedroom window at the flowers wilting on my patio garden. I haven’t been able to water them for two days and in this extreme heat they are wilting as much as I am from the pain.
Is this a poem, a pity party, an essay or a journal entry? I don’t know. All I know is that I have to let it out. I have to share my experiences. I will risk the judgment, the embarrassment, whatever may be the result. I guess I am reaching out…hoping somebody somewhere will read this and understand the isolation and loneliness disability and chronic pain/illness create.