A ‘For F’s sake’ article by Jo Howell
Every now and then I need a metaphorical scream into the abyss. I need to release the monster of oppressive rage into the ether. Let it disperse so the immense pressure doesn’t crush me.
Being in pain all the time is exhausting. Being in pain all the time, and knowing that there’s no cure…
Knowing that the flares will come.
No escape.
No relief.
Modicum’s of comfort squeezed from warmth and rest, but never ever enough to feel recharged.
Perpetually caught between wipeouts and total mental shutdown. A phantom in my own life.
I’m still here, somewhere. Look for me under the codeine and antidepressant pills. I’m probably in the murky depths of self pity. Pissing in my own pocket.
For f@cks sake.
Don’t get sick. Don’t fall. Don’t go out. Remember that thing about spoons.
Forget what you were before. That’s smoke and mirrors, baby.
I’m sure these dots used to connect. But I’m too out of myself to know it.
