The pain is creeping back in.
The aches or so stark and new, yet so damn familiar.
I cant get up from my bed in the mornings without assistance, I become so stiff and sore through the night as I sleep.
My hips ache, when I walk, when I sit, when I lay, when I do absolutely nothing at all to aggravate them.
I know this feeling. I do not like it. I loathe it.
Life becomes hard and dull and slow and impossible, gradually, but surprisingly fast, like a landslide.
My mind is constantly plagued by one thought, one line “I…. Cant…. Do…. This”.
I know what happens next, because its a cycle I have been in for the past three years. I know it doesn’t get better. I know it gets much, much worse. Theres no naivety there. I am fully away of what this indicates.
Yet I still cant seem to let go of hope.
I hope I can overcome it.
I hope I can live with it.
I hope I can get through it.
I hope I can get rid of it.
My hopes contradict each other and themselves, but they break up the monotony of ‘I… Cant… Do…. This”. They allow me to hold my ground at the shifting intersection where ‘what I am’ meets ‘what I remember always being’.