myriad voices
inside the great crystal ball before me
cannot penetrate the surface
distorted faces pressed
grotesque against the convex pane
groping fingers
death-white with constant despair
either let me out
or let them in
This is how it is. You find yourself encased in an impenetrable bubble. Nothing and no one can get in and you can't get out. Your voice has long ago ceased to be heard. Even if you still have a voice, you don't know what to beg for, or who to beg. Friends disappear. Family too. Husbands get rid of you. Children don't understand you. You begin to think you're dead, a ghost, because this... THIS.... this agony cannot possibly be real.
It's one thing for someone to understand, or have compassion regarding your personal agony, your exhaustion, and the inevitable anxiety that being sick leaves for you to muck through. But does anyone really get it? No. And you wouldn't want them to. This thing makes you feel like you're floating about in space without even an orbit to follow. Nothing makes sense. You can't breathe... or wish you couldn't.
I refer you to another blog, to someone who can describe it. Those of us inside this bubble cannot begin to try to explain. We haven't the energy, thoughts don't come out in any distinguishable language, and the anxiety forces apathy. Apathy is our survival mechanism. And I can tell you one thing for sure... that survival instinct is a bitch.
Read this:
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