Poetry - "Can you see what I can see?" a reflection on chronic pain

I'm supposed to be on day 4 of my 30-day blog challenge, but the challenge I chose to undertake has day 4 listed as "Your opinion on a recent news story" and you know what? That just is not jiving with my soul right now. So, let's do some poetry today instead.

*Trigger warning - This is deals with thoughts of death.

 

Can you see what I see?

She just needs someone to hold
To keep her heart from turning cold.
She can feel it growing -
This void you find inside her soul.

The road before her breaks and crumbles.
Her shadow is always late.

She trips and starts to stumble.
I see her try to hold her head up straight.

She looks up and says to me,
"Can you see what I can see?
Do you know just what it's like?
I wish that I could die tonight."

Minutes turn to hours,
Turn to days
Which turn to weeks.

Every night she loses more sleep.

She finds herself trapped
Inside the secrets that she keeps.

She looks up and says to me,
"Can you see what I can see?
Do you know just what it's like?
I wish that I could die tonight."

Everything inside her heart
Turns to grey.
The only thing she knows
Is pain.

Locked inside her room
She spends days and days and days
Wishing that she could just run away.

She looks up and says to me,
"Can you see what I can see?"

 

 

The story behind the poem

Now, before my friends and family start rushing to me in concern, allow me to say that yes I am OK. But, let's be honest. Life can get dark when you're dealing with chronic pain. This comes from my own experience of days layered on days of nothing but pain so blinding that I experienced little else in life. It was a very difficult time (I'm talking a 3 month long migraine) and there were certainly moments when I wondered if it would truly be so bad if that pain was signaling the end.

I wasn't sure if I would ever share this poem, to be honest. These aren't easy thoughts to share and they aren't easy topics for other people to discuss, either. I certainly didn't want a whole bunch of pity or worry. So, I've chosen to share it now that my outlook has shifted. I got through that pain. I am on the other side. And I know that, should I have to endure it again, I will manage.

I want to go back to something I said earlier: "pain so blinding that I experienced little else in life." Notice how I said "little else." It wasn't only pain. And when I look back I definitely remember the relentlessness of it. I remember the days bleeding into the nights and all the emotions that went with it. But I also remember small bright moments. I remember pillows and blankets to comfort me. I remember my husband's soothing kiss on my forehead. I remember snippets of the movies he'd watch with me (though my eyes were usually closed) and the relief of sunlight when I knew I made it through another night. I remember video chats with my nephews and very short card games with my step daughter. I remember painful bumpy rides to the beach and the relief of sitting by the waves as their sound numbed some of the pain in my head.

All this to say: it wasn't all bad. ☯️

There is always a little dark in the light, but there's also a little light in the dark.