The Truth About Chronic Illness: A Poem

There will be times when you have to live off ramen, poptarts and take-out because you don't have the strength to cook.
There will be nights you can't sleep because the pain is so bad, and days you can't stay up because you're so tired.
There will be days you'll wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
There will be years you have to rely on welfare, or savings, or the kindness of others.
There will be times you feel guilty for that.
There will be countless doctor's appointments. You'll be weighed and questioned and pricked with needles. You'll have x-rays and blood tests and ultrasounds. Lots of meds. Lots.
There will be invitations you'll have to turn down, parties you'll have to leave early, brunches you'll have to cancel at the last minute.
There will be times people won't understand. And you'll feel awful about that.
There will be weeks you can't leave bed, days you can't leave the house, mornings you can't shower or brush your teeth. You'll feel unkempt and pathetic and ugly.


You'll think to yourself, 
"I'm stronger than ever before.
Other spoonies understand me.
My family-- my true, chosen family-- has never left me.
And I am not my illness."

And somehow, you'll survive.

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