Poetry

Underneath It All

“This is what it means to be me.
And it barely scratches the surface.”

This pain I feel. It’s a tangible, searing pain ripping through my body. It spreads out through my nerves like a wildfire and I cannot help but gasp out from the intensity. The ache it leaves behind is almost worst. Because the initial pain is fleeting, and I know that it will come to an end. It’s the aftermath that haunts me. When my body locks up and my muscles contract, leaving me feeling like I’ve been stretched out far too much and my muscles are screaming at me to let them shrink back to their normal size. But I know they won’t. They remain like that for days, sometimes weeks or months at a time.

This is what it means to live with just one aspect of fibromgalgia. It doesn’t even cover the other symptoms, the complex PTSD, and near-constant migraines that plague me.

© Sarah Doughty

This is what it means
to be me.
And it barely
scratches the surface.

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2 thoughts on “Underneath It All”

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