It is the state of fragility that blindsides me.
I am a strong woman.
Someone once told me I was courageous, but I cannot see it –
I have not chosen pain, grief,
illness.
The fragility is pervasive –
My body feels reduced to miniscule fibers:
stretched and torn, on the brink of brokenness.
Mind, overwhelmed, obsesses, but will not organize
or let go.
if only I could let go.
If you could see me I am weeping and not –
weeping from the frustration of the immediate impossibility
and unwilling to weep for the total loss.
It is beyond me.
Outside these walls life continues
and regards me with disgust/ indifference/ repulsion.
There is no equality for the ill and disabled.
And, yet….
In this state of rawness, stripped of “life”,
or rather, busy-ness,
I am as any other –
Just a soul trying to having a meaningful existence.
Maybe illness is the great equalizer.
(Image: background-pictures.picphotos.net)
2 thoughts on “The Same, But Broken”