If this isn’t Punishment

On my worst days…

every movement hurts and the cribbling pain sneaks up on me, I am forced to lay still until the pain eases leaving me breathless.




Once again the mourning beings…

Aware of the things I might never do again… Like dancing…oh how I miss dancing… Like running or walking without a frustrating amount of pain. How simple tasks become difficult: something as simple as picking up a sock, making my favorite meal, or holding a pen so steadily without the wallowing ache.

Chest hurts, jaw hurts, ankles, and hips hurt. Wrists hurt, the backbone is gone it has departed from the rest of my body. Even my toes are swollen perhaps they want to explode like a balloon. Chewing hurts, smiling hurts, crying hurts. Oh is that a migraine I sense coming? Pms took the pen, period cramps are awaited. Aren’t I just one fine-ass lady?

Oh, it’s on, let me whine and complain just a little more.

Guilt feeling of never being able to accomplish my tiny daily goals. I never know how I will be waking up in the morning. Man autoimmune disease is a hater. Chronic illness, please take a seat. It’s the inflammation time, it’s a flare-up time

My body says to itself, – Yepp let’s party let’s get cranky with bopping joints that sound like crackers. Let’s hurt and ache all at once so she hates to be touched… Whilst the craving for physical connection and horniness never dies…If this isn’t punishment…

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