valencia Writes

Imprisoned

By Valencia Turner

Every second of my life, I’m walking uphill … in sand.

Sewn into my spine is a 100-pound backpack made from burning metal spikes.

Desert winds dry out my eyes, making it difficult to see, and my skin cracks while I struggle to reach the apex of a never-ending, constantly sloping mountain.

My heart beats an unsteady rhythm as my stomach roils, emptying its contents at random.

Wave after wave of nausea strike me as bands of heat lap against my upper body.

Thoughts, ideas come to mind, but they struggle to find purchase; to take root in a brain filled with fog … this is where I lost myself long ago.

NO ONE can depend on my body.

Not my husband.

Not my children.

Not my family.

NO one.

Especially NOT me.

That’s part of the problem which has no solution.

I fight through it.

I am a burden.

I am THE burden.

Chronic illness shapes my world and all it does is add iron shackles to those around me.

“Walk it off.”

“Be sexy.”

“Be happy.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Why can’t you do this?”

“I have the same thing. I just get up and keep moving.”

“We all feel that way sometimes.”

“Just take some Tylenol.”

“You’re letting it get to you.”

“Get up!”

“What’s wrong with you.”

I will never win this battle.

That doesn’t mean I’m not fighting.