
Image by BedexpStock from Pixabay
Failed plans.
Missed appointments.
I’m labeled rude, uncaring, and arrogant.
Invitations dwindle then disappear.
It’s not my fault.
I’m not to blame.
I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness most can’t pronounce, and even fewer understand.
No dinner.
Piles of laundry.
I’m labeled lazy and entitled.
Family and friends give my mister sympathetic looks which mean, “We know it’s not you.”
It’s not my fault.
I’m not to blame.
I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness which hides just below the surface. A master of disguise, it leads doctors on a merry chase taking my energy and thoughts with it… and leaving pain in its wake.
More tests.
More co-pays.
More pills.
More dubious looks from the very people who are supposed to understand this shit.
More dumbass questions and asinine statements. “Don’t you want you get better? You need to work with us, not against us.”
Enough!
It’s not my fault!
I’m not to blame!
I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness the medical community would rather dose, debate—and some, even debunk—than find a real cure for!
No more tests!
No more co-pays!
I don’t want your pills!
I want back the life I had!
I want to attend graduations and weddings!
I want to take my nephew to the park!
I want to take my dog for a walk!
I want to put on heels and go dancing!
I want to clean my house, plant my garden, and shop without needing assistance or risking a two-day flare-up!
I want to leave my home without concern for the distance from the parking lot to my destination!
I don’t want the pitying looks!
I don’t need the snide remarks!
And if one more asshole says, “You’re so lucky you don’t have to work, I will lose my shit!
And I will make no apologies…
…because it’s not my fault!
I’m not to blame!
I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness I cannot escape.
And, while it may drain my energy and steal my thoughts, it will not take my soul.
And no one will take my dignity.
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