Body Talks

Listen to your body.

Glib advice, especially if ignoring the body is habitual, and compliance is not listed as  a character trait.

What would my body have to say, I wonder.

My legs, stiff and inflexible, lumbering along like Frankenstein; are they telling me to put them up, resign myself to rest?

My arms, heavy with fatigue, pained if I reach out, refusing to give me strength:  would they tell me to quit trying?

My skin, crawling with invisible bugs, nerve endings biting as if shouting:  “Overstimulation!  Shut it down!”

My lungs, constricted, shallow breathers, are suggesting life is limited, and is this constant rapidly beating heart signaling that effort is futile?

The spasms, in muscles, in my bowels, aren’t they bullying me into submission?

Even my mind has turned its back (if that is possible), reminding me of my usefulness.

If I listen to my body, I will lose hope.  I will lie down, and never get up again.

I am sticking to non-compliance, and hitching my hope to will.  Mine and God’s.

As soon as I can get out of this bed….

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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