I am afraid that I have a disease that no one will ever understand or be able to help me with. I fear that I will become lonelier and lonelier until the end. I cannot craft into prose the exhaustion and pain of the last ten and a half months.
I could probably describe the sunset or the city lights but I have no words for this. Aching neck- depleted body- disorientated mind. Tired.
There is no poetry in illness. Not for me, not now.