She thought of her hopes and dreams that she once had,

swirled down the drain of her spiraling life’s path,

floating down below in the sewer, where they belong, she decided.

Trying out new things were too scary, too risky, too new.

She tried reminding herself that change is always uncomfortable.

She longed for better, brighter days.

Days where she woke up without pain or anxiety.

Days without taking a pill or sipping a drink.

Days where she stood by the stove crafting food from scratch,

not hunched over the countertop in pain, then crawling back into bed.

She longed for days of adventure, where she didn’t feel nervous to go out into public; into the world.

Days where she could twirl around and let her hair down,

laughing freely, unapologetically, living as though no one was watching.

Days without self-doubt, without anger.

Days with more smiles than tears.

Days where she could live.


Photo from, by jill111


Author: tiredmindtypingfingers

Writing about writing and chronic illness, and trying to make something out of it.

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