The Heavy
Me: My head is pounding.
The doctor: We can write another script, I don’t think anymore tests are necessary. You’ll be fine.
Me: I’m exhausted.
My dad: Being tired never killed anyone I ever knew. Get off your ass and on your feet. You can sleep when you’re dead, kid.
Me: The load of laundry needs to go in the dryer.
My daughter: I’ll get it in a minute.
Me: I forgot the grocery list at home.
Husband: It’s fine- we’ll just wing it! We’ll figure it out!
Me: My head is pounding. I’m exhausted. The load of laundry needs to go in the dryer. I forgot the grocery list. I want to cry–but I can’t and it’s caused my hives to start hiving. Who has time for frying anyway?
The World: That’s anxiety. That’s grief. That’s shame. That’s old trauma. That’s ADHD. That’s OCD. That’s chronic illness. That’s anger. That’s love. That’s the absence of praise. That’s the yearning for a soft landing in a safe spot.
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Tell your dad about CFS/ME!
This poem is so terribly relateable. That outrageous cycle of dealing with pain, exhaustion, and all the things that occur because of these — which increase the pain and exhaustion! I get it. I think many of “us” do.
I really like the way you poured it all into one paragraph, because that’s what it feels like. It’s not linear; it’s a jumble.
I’ve read this several times, and please forgive me for giving you something to think about. Your very last paragraph, I don’t think you need most of that because you’ve done a skillful job of showing us. What if you only kept the last sentence and made it personal, e.g. “I yearn for…” Feel free to ignore me. It’s just an idea.
Thank you so much for this poem.