FMS & Creative Writing on Isolation
Don’t talk about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t begin to believe it…even if you experience it every single day. What it means to be ill…until you die. What it means to rethink to think to rethink to think who you are and can be. Don’t talk about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t begin to believe it…even if you experience it every single day.
I cannot speak about anyone else but myself. I am sure that others may understand. When you are looked at you as though you serve no purpose. You have no worth. You cannot do what you used to do. You hide yourself from yourself and everyone else. Your accomplishments amount to nil if you cannot continue to add to them.
You do not belong to belong. No one seems to hold your name in their mouths. You belong to a category of that which should be disbelieved…even if they don’t say it. You breathe it in from their absent words. You breathe it into your self-understanding, although you don’t want to believe. You don’t want to believe your reality. Anyway, your reality is chronically wrong.
Your reality is painted by breathstrokes of waking and waiting to understand your worth.
Your worth is trapped and defined by a bed, by a line of medications toppling off shelves, by the phone that no longer rings, by the work that feels overwhelming, by stairs that seem too hard to climb…
Yet still, there is always tomorrow. You have to believe in tomorrow because today offers little salvation.