It's Not Me...
There are times when I can hardly walk. When I just take a couple of steps and I fall over. Most of these times are at home, with family but some are not.
Sometimes I may be out late with friends and my co-ordination fails me. And I feel like I want to tell them, that this is not me, that my life is not like this. That I am ok. That everything is ok. But clearly it isn't. And I worry about them. About how they see me. Because this is not me, or at least, I don't want it to be. But at times it is.
There are other times when my medication takes over. When I can hardly control the involuntary movements in my legs. When I kick and writhe more and more with every thought. And I may be sitting at a table eating with friends trying desperately not to kick them, or in a meeting at work. And I want to hide. But I cannot hide what is happening to me. I cannot hide it any more than I can control it. And I am embarrassed because this is not me. But somehow, now, it is.
Don't get me wrong, I celebrate every day I have on this planet and the joys it brings. I celebrate the medication that is somehow out of control and yet shields me from pain. But there is a part of me that wants to scream out from somewhere deep inside. That I am so much more than this. So that everyone can understand. But deep down, I know everyone understands, but no one can change it.
It's just hard to accept that, for now, this is me.
