I love you but I cannot contain my frustration right now.
I tell you I am fine, and happy, and safe, so why do you shake like a leaf in the wind, make me dizzy when I try to read, weigh me down with heavy exhaustion, make me feel that I will faint or fall —
You respond to fear to the sensations you create — racing heart, shallow breaths, physical symptoms leading to more physical symptoms;
You do not need to panic, so why do you panic so and set my thoughts racing in turn?
Why do you hurt when you are not supposed to,
When I walk or bake or speak or type or laugh —Teeth aching, muscles tightening, back burning, making me fear that you have been injured again?
You have taken so much from me — couldn’t you have at least spared my hobbies? My voice?
Was it not enough to make you whole —
The year and a half I spent out of school,
The visits to the hospital,
The meditations and the PT and the acupuncture and the walking and the resting and the dozens of doctors and all the other things I have tried to make you content,
To make you go back to what you were like before?
And maybe this should be a letter to my mind instead,
For it is not my body but my mind that does not work as it should —
My muscles are not torn,
My bones are not cracked,
My joints do not swell;
It is my mind that creates the pain and the tremors and the dizziness and the fatigue and the migraines and the panic and more —
But I feel that my mind has brought suffering enough,
Years of mental illness that I have written about in dozens of poems,
So I will turn instead and write this letter to my
You are beautiful, not broken, even though some days it is hard to believe,
Hard to believe that you do not want to hurt me,
Hard to believe that you are not some sort of cruel punishment from the universe,
Hard to believe that I can love you as much as I should —
But see, body, I need to remember that you are so ******* strong —
You have been starved and cut and bruised and poked with needles more times than I can count and yet you still allow me to
Write poetry and walk and breathe and eat and drink and laugh and love and this is a gift —
And by showing me what it is like to feel sick,
You have shown me how grateful I am for the things that I can still do.
You are not fragile, a twig to be broken under a shoe, a feather to be weighed down in rain —
You are stronger than I could ever imagine,
And as the years go on, I know that I will come to witness even more
The capable wonderful thing
That you are.