Thursday, June 29, 2017

Today has been so long. It feels like this morning was weeks ago.
I'm feeling very small tonight. I feel myself shrinking, and everything is so big. It feels like I'm a mite, and toppled skyscrapers are being piled atop me.
I am so small that I can crawl out between their gaps and maybe dissappear.

Monday, June 12, 2017

For Kyla, Leah and Kay, and all my Teachers who Teach me to Survive

First of all, floundering is part of the process
There will be voracious googling to make sense of each new diagnosis
Tumblr and Facebook groups will become your
Can't-sleep-middle-of-the-night comfort places
"Pain"- a word everyone seems to think they understand
Has a different meaning for you now
"Exhausted" too
If you're an extrovert
You may start to feel like you're dissappearing as
Fewer and fewer invitations to join your friends come through
Not that you could go anyway 
But you hold on to "maybe"
In the beginning
By the day
Then by the week
Soon you're wondering if certain months might be kind enough to unshackle you from your bed for an afternoon
One day you'll discover another voice 
One that feels like it comes from your own heart
This might feel like joy that could burst from your pain filled ribcage like broken glass through tissue paper
Little by little
Through community
You'll begin to make sense of some things
Burbur and lemon water bring quicker relief from your migraines than Excedrin or any narcotic
Lavender tea for twitching muscles
Narcotics help some things too
Crystals and herbs and sleep are powerful medicine
Help will come from corners you didn't know were there
You'll attain new living ancestors-
A "Crip Fairy Godmother" and a "Mama", both chronologically younger than you
Both hundreds of years older in Sickness wisdom
You'll learn that
Sometimes "medicine" isn't something you ingest
But space
Patience and
The forgiveness you take for yourself