I’ve been robbed.
And the suspects are at it again.
Missing, are my hours, my days, my being, my joy…and my life. Each time, they strip away another piece of me, chipping away at my existence until all that is left is a broken, dark and useless me.
They break in and penetrate right through my brick exterior. Nothing can shield me, nothing can stop them. Some measures slow them down and put up a good fight but usually prove to be no match to their destruction.
I know their names. I’ve stared them right in the face. I have even punched a few of them right in the gut. They just laugh and shake their heads at me. They are truly in control.
They belong to a very active gang worldwide. There is a branch of the gang right in my very neighborhood. It’s a family, bound by a common desire to destroy. Attached to one another and knowing full well what they are capable of, collectively.
The leader of the gang is, Mr. Rheumatoid Arthritis or RA, as they call him in the streets. He is the mastermind behind this brilliant force. Ruthless. What he says – goes. Barking orders to the worker bees in the gang and mapping out the details of each attack on the intended targets. He has personally marred my body. Attacked my joints and left some disfigured. His latest focus is my neck.
Second in command is, Fatigue. A repulsive fellow who won’t leave my side. Every once in a while he sneaks out to get some fresh air or to attend the gang’s ‘strategy’ meetings, but he’s on me the rest of the time. He is responsible for my uselessness. Only allowing me to perform a few activities in a day. Robbing me of a chance at a job, participating in my kid’s activities, enjoying the outdoors with my husband and making me unavailable to attend to my family’s needs.
Fatigue oftentimes prevents my kids from coming to me when they need help with homework, projects, a trip to the mall or just to talk. He barricades me in my bed and makes me sleep for hours at a time. Like a rag doll, I am lifelessly wasting away to nothing.
He has invaded my brain, making it difficult to rely on my memory, recall words, make decisions and react sharply to situations. He holds the remote control responsible for my functioning and oftentimes, sets it on MUTE.
Depression, though not as powerful as his peers, is not far behind. I don’t let his deadly silence fool me. He creeps in slowly and soon becomes my strongest voice. He reminds me of my misery that exists. He forces me to compare my life to others’ and points out the unfairness of it all. He uses his full force to pull me down, to see the hopelessness around me and to prevent me from fighting the battle. In fact, he is with me now. Made himself right at home and is showing no signs of venturing out in this cold (and who can blame him.)
This is my life.
Oh sure, there are many things I am grateful for and wouldn’t change for the world, but underneath that smile and positivity lies, reality.
Now, please don’t feel a need to call the police, alert the authorities or come to my rescue. Though I appreciate your efforts greatly, I will somehow, survive.
I have to.
I always do.
It’s daunting and exhausting, but survival is possible.
I will continue to fight my hardest, so I can one day be in full control of my own remote. One in which the settings are permanently set at, POWER, PLAY and HIGH DEFINITION and one that will never be robbed from me.