Stonebird

Back screaming agony Muscles expanding and contracting Rippling in my diaphragm Causing irritation and distress Throbbing angry stressed pain that consumes And batters continually Increasing while I sleep Torturing me with its persistence Will not go away Will not calm down Will not  rest Will not find a tolerable level Digs at  me Kicks me Screams in my middle Stopping me from easy movement Stopping me from sitting up Stopping me from functioning Where did it come from? When will it leave? Why does it hurt me so continually? So very tired of all the bullshit And denial of my very real Physical illness And complete physical  dysfunction.

The tide's on the turn ;   as   I stagger battered , as never before, but  not done fighting, into 2012, I can think of no greater achievement this year  than to  let-go  of the "CFS" label that has does so much harm to people with ME.

Someone asked Do I want to be well After so many many  years Of being ill ? Why But tell me this, do you think This is the right question To ask? It shows nothing of understanding Or empathy With my reality. Is it not then perhaps cruel To ask this of me When there is no path There is no possibility Of achieving this aim  ? Similarly I might as well  ask Do you want to go Centre of the Earth? You would of course  say It is not possible. You would say What a bizarre question to ask me. I cannot do this thing you ask of me. There is  no pathway to follow. There is no vehicle within which to travel. I would come to physical harm in trying. Perhaps you might  want to go there as an idea, But in reality It is out of the question. Perhaps you would like nothing more than to go there. But is it possible? Absolutely not. So why ask the same of me? Is it possible to be well? Is there a path? Do I want one? Is there a vehicle to get there? Of course not. Do I want to...

Boxing Day was the tail end of an obscure Christmas, the fag end of a year of abuse.  My wife in too much agony to be touched, even slightly, without violently flinching, unable to feel her body below her waist, slumped, paralysed , in the sudden red glow of fireworks from next door, a party to which we were not invited. Boxing Day was the pain in my guts, the longing to go running on a beach with her, knowing she is more ill than I have ever known. Christmas Day was the ME kicking her hard in her back and head. There is no let up to the disease's merciless attack, its progressive worsening, its savage ravaging of my wife. Boxing Day was me feeling very small  indeed, an impotent  spectator at the ME feast. So angry.  Long Boxing Day of pain.

The  cold eats into me Chilling my bones And sending nerve pain screaming round my  battered body Winter is here Yet spring will come Sun will shine again Things will change New growth will come But not I fear in ME world The injustice rages through my body Cuts deeper than the  icy chill of winter Rattles round my bones Demanding attention Pierces even the depth  of my empty brain fogged  mind Shouting out its wrongness Demanding attention Gnawing at the centre of my being. How can we continue to bear such wrong in the world ? Wrongness that destroys truth That evades healing That persecutes the vulnerable That punishes the most ill. Surely we cannot be frozen out of society  for ever By misrepresentation Misinterpretation Neglect And banishment ? Where is Justice ? Where is Truth? Where is honesty? Where is  integrity? The weight of the lie must surely break the bough of untruth eventually? How long do we have to stay in the  psychiatric winter ...