The sickness comes when I least expect it. Days, weeks, months, they all blend the same, tearing through the liner of my body, burning my insides, no respite to the fire and struck so fiercely I’m rendered helpless but to succumb to its force.
For a long time I’ve fought and squirmed against it, wracking my body, shaking and heaving, in hopes I can move the mountain unyielding before me. This does not work. The pain persists, comes and goes when it wants, with authority.
Most recently, I somehow have been learning to embrace the pain. Not welcoming the pain—I’m not that good at desiring this, yet. I simply accept that it has come and my body must do what it must to quell the toxins writhing inside. I calm myself, breathe, “You’re ok,” and let it run its course, feel the ebb and flow of flare up and respite.
Does it make the pain easier? Certainly not. It makes the pain bearable. As I consciously align my mind with my body and accept this is natural course of rhythm in the staccato of sickness, I move with the pain. And I am more aware of life burning with care before my eyes.
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