I Thought I Was Young and Free

I believed I was young and would always be free, then one day I awoke and realised my body had trapped me.

As my heart aches and tears do fall, I start again to build up that wall.

No words can explain how I feel inside, sometimes it seems a lot easier to hide.

I try my best to wear my trademark smile, at the end of the day though, I’ve gone that extra mile.

As I fight to smother the building pain, I start to wonder if I’m going insane.

Of course there was anger and denial then crippling grief, acceptance I find still eludes me.

The pain doesn’t match the burn within, the desire to work, to create, to achieve something.

To be able to think, to make, to still use my hands. Something so simple to those that don’t understand.

Music and dancing are a part of my soul, to not be able again to rock and to roll, is a huge blow to my flagging morale.

It’s a gift to dance, to be able to sing, to take a piece of wood and carve it into a beautiful thing.

To sail and to swim, from hiking to fossicking. Sitting around the campfire, listening to the wildlife gossiping.

The breeze in the trees and the chuckle of the river, make me pleased I decided to become a digger.

Of gold and gems and crystals afar, a childhood hobby that’s gone crazy by far.

I still put myself through different paces and I challenge myself on a daily basis.

As my body breaks down even more, I try not to think what I’m unable to do anymore.

Searching endlessly to lessen my pain and looking for new hobbies for interest and gain.

As I look into my loved one's eyes, I see their hurt and confusion as I struggle not to cry.

The hurt and confusion that I see, is a direct reflection of the agony in me. This hurts me more as I struggle to cope, to end this pain is more than a hope.

This is not me and I detest what I’ve become but pain every day has made me undone.

On the days when my life feels so bad, I feel as though I’m truly going mad. I rant and rave and push all away, as if I don’t, the pain won’t sway.

At the end of a terrible day, I’ll hide in the shed, hidden away. Trying to fix this or that, or just happy to cuddle the cat.

My life is now dictated by chronic pain. Some days I feel I’ll go insane. On different days it can go down or just gains.

Lava traveling through bones. Elbows that feel like they’re cracked and my Neck! Let’s not talk about that. My back, my nerves, my muscles, my head. If I were a dog, I’d beg to be dead.

There is no break or even a rest, each new agony daily raises its ugly head, to attack an arm or maybe a leg.

It’s a never ending story to be, because the end of this story wasn’t written for me.

I believed I was still young and would always be free, then one day I awoke and realised my body had trapped me.

***

A poem written by me while I was out in the bush with the dog for awhile. I jokingly call it my "victim impact statement" after what I’ve been put through with our failing health system.