A Spoonie Poem for All With Chronic Illness
My friend Misty is a Lyme Disease fighter, and she’s been fighting it for more than fifteen years, though she was diagnosed within the last two years, about the same time I found out I had fibro. We grew up in the same small little town towards the Oregon coast, and since I never went to high school with her, being sent off to private school instead, we didn’t have an opportunity to speak for many years. Thanks to the magic of facebook, we are back in touch. I’ve learned a lot from Misty.
In addition to being a totally courageous and fabulous warrior kindred spirit, she is also a mom to two little ones. She just had her second, against all odds, against everything she’s been told by doctors about her prognosis. She keeps searching for a cure on her own, she keeps educating others about tick borne diseases, and she keeps building her family. She fights LD with a holistic, carefully researched approach. That kind of honesty and determination deserve some love. Though I wish she had her own blog to record her thoughts because her writing is incredibly strong and poignant, you can understand why a mom to a little boy and a new baby girl, a mom who suffers from advanced Lyme Disease, does not have the energy to keep up a blog. When she posted this poem on her facebook, I had to ask if I could share it on her behalf, because I’m feeling really lost and this piece of writing calmed me down and reminded me that as much as I’m feeling rejection right now, there is a lot of love in the spoonie community, enough to make up for what I’m missing. We are never fighting chronic illness alone, no matter how geographically separated we are, we spoonies do such a great job of always lifting each other up with what little energy each of us has.
I’m really delighted that Misty said I could share her beautiful poem, and I hope it helps someone else feel less alone and more understood.
THIS IS DEDICATED TO ANYONE SUFFERING FROM CHRONIC ILLNESS:
by Misty Perkins
when all your talents are unusable
All your intelligence faded away
That spark you had has flickered
When all your motivation taken away
When all the things that define you are gone
what is left at the end of the day?
When memory fades
All you feel is confusion and rage
When your bones ache
And your body disobeys
How do you answer when they call your name?
Are you really you, when you’re not the same?
When you can’t find yourself
And you’re lost in a daze
Does anyone care to trouble with the maze
Will they see you there, or pass on by
Will they hold you tight
Or watch you cry
When you have no one else, and you’re lost to yourself
How do you cope, when no one can help?
I don’t have the answers to those questions, but I am closer than I was a few years ago. Progress, not perfection!
Thanks you, Misty, for allowing me to put your poem on my blog so others could benefit from it too.