I am not helpless…

Diana DuBell — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 18:19:19 +0000

I keep repeating this mantra to myself, over and over, as I struggle for a solid foothold on unstable ground. I flit from doctor to doctor hoping I will find relief from the pain and fatigue of Fibromyalgia, but to no avail. These doctors are like the mechanic who opens the hood of a car, peers in and sees that everything is in its proper place. He then closes the hood, saying, “well, everything looks in order,” and never looks any deeper. Meanwhile, water and oil have mixed inside the engine, and you know something is wrong, but are powerless to convince him that he must dig deeper into the problem. Instead, he tells you to try waving a talisman over the hood every morning for the next two weeks and your car will feel better.

You know it’s bullshit, and in the case of your car, if you’re determined enough, you can fix it yourself. It’s not quite the same as knowing there’s something deeply, inherently wrong with you and not being able to get relief.

Quietus

Diana DuBell — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 17:33:30 +0000

Though I have no illusions of privacy, I imagine myself wrapped in silence here. It seems a safer place to be who I am, without hiding or trying to pretend different. Sometimes a journal (online or otherwise) seems more like testimony, a record of existence, than it does merely a place to rage or rant. I imagine my invisibility, being just a shadow in the darkness of night. Here, I don’t have to make perfect sense of anything or wonder why it is I go unheard and feel like a ghost.

I can simply be the ghost.

The New Revolution

I am not helpless…

Quietus