Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Our little talk, my body & me:

OK, body, here's the story:

Gapey, you gotta get it together. We have to live together, and in truth, I'd rather we learn how to do that than have to rip you up and try to fix you. We are both scared of the idea of surgery, so grow up already and act like you belong to my body. I know you heard me decide to take you apart, and I very well might do that, but if you stop bothering me so much and get some flexibility, I will, too. Am I being a hard hostess? Well, you are a hard guest. In fact, I don't remember ever inviting you, did I. Maybe that's the real problem. You feel like an intruder to my body, and I want the power to decide how my body will be. I know I have that power, but today it scares me.

And you, hip and thigh pain... I've had just about enough of you two. You are with me from morning to evening, sitting, standing, driving, or lying down. You have me believing that an analysis via MRI will be the key to getting rid of you. But what if it's not? What are you two, anyway? Do you work as a team, or is it just a coincidence? Did Gapey talk you into joining the party with it's scar tissue growing out of control back there? Is this a conspiracy? If you don't show your origin soon, there's gonna be a riot, and neither of us want it to get to that. Just get out on your own, please, quickly and quietly.

You all have no right to take over my mood, or to bring fear and doubt to the world I built. Before you came around, I made decisions, and I carried them out. Always. I was strong and fearless. I took chances because I knew I'd make it through.

You stole my feeling of being powerful. You made me humble. You made me rely on God and faith. Those things are good. I got it. Just leave me alone now and let me move on. Let me feel strong, and stop with the pain. Enough.

1 comment :

  1. Hey, Sarah, its me, your nose. I just wanted to say it wasn't my fault, and apart from being stuffed once in a while, I'm working fine. So, here's a riddle. What type of flower sits between your nose (that's me!) and your chin? Give up? Two-lips! Get it? Tulips. Now, go to sleep. Your eyes are telling me they're tired!

    Love, Miriam