lilashynone

A while back, I wrote this poem in a fit of anger and frustration. See, about a year or so ago, I got diagnosed with chronic EBV (Epstein-Barr Virus or Mononucleosis). Although I was given all sorts of medications to combat allergies and what not, the doctor wondered himself what the best course of action should be. My body doesn’t handle medications very well; it taxes it. But at the same time too, I have so many damned allergies, that I feel sick all the time. My “best option” for recovery was to avoid things like stress, getting sick, and things I’m allergic to. Yes… because we live in such a calming time…

So, some times the fatigue and illness hit me, usually during/right after something big.  It seems like such a small thing.

“Oh, you’re tired”, people will say to me. If by tired, you mean so bone-achingly fatigued that I can barely hold myself up and I shake when I try and I could literally just collapse where I am at, then yes; I’m tired.

I live alone, pay my own bills, support myself. I’m 25 years old. It’s difficult enough for me to understand that those fun things that people my age do, like go to the bars for happy hour after work or clubbing into the wee hours of the morning, are not always possible for me. In fact, it down right pisses me off. I’m fighting just to keep moving and keep my head up at this point, how would I survive going out?

No, it’s not always like this. There are times when I am not as affected and can easily enjoy the life of a young adult. Usually if I sleep all day in preparation for staying up late at night.

And yes, I do realize I could have it a thousand times worse. I’m very fortunate for what I have and I should appreciate those things. It just gets frustrating. It’s like I have enough energy to manage through the necessary things like work and chores (though those do go to the sidelines when I really am over-worked), but none of the fun. Also, friends and family have a hard time understanding this virus because I don’t look like there is anything really wrong with me. They can get busy and tired and still keep pushing, why can’t I do the same? What’s so different?

But a normal day is tiring enough for me. There have been instances that I have pushed myself to continue on. The result was that I then proceeded to get really sick and it took me a week or so to recover from just the fatigue, and then however long after that for the illness. Normal people can function at a relatively regular pace, maybe a little tired/achy. I pay heartily for these instances. I’m not just down temporarily; I’m down for the count.

So this was my creative outlet for my anger and frustration one night, after I realized that I could not go out and be a normal 25 year old, but instead had to send myself off at bed one Friday night at 9:30pm and received countless ridicules from friends that I was like an old lady.

Neither here, nor there

Is there someone who will care

That the pain that I feel

Is something very real

Tangible where it lies

But invisible to all eyes

Do you see me?

Could you be me?

The frustration from within

You treat illness like a sin

Where’s your empathy?

Have you no sympathy?

I fight this battle all alone

My deficiencies are my own

Will you never understand

That I do everything I can

Just to get by with what I do

And suffer ridicule from you

I have enough anger left inside

From this sickness I can’t hide.

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