Anna Parker aka incurable.rager has been sick with MECFS since 2017, and developed a severe form of the disease after the birth of her daughter in 2020.
“When my grief feels unbearable, I’ll often process it through words. Some of the less chaotic poems I like to throw into the void in case it helps put words to someone else’s suffering.”
To cage an unwelcome beast in my ribs
It naws sucks and howls
To trap confine isolate a host
A complete lack of symbiosis
It is raw destruction unquenchable greed
Devouring potential curiosity delight
Hollowing to desperation clawed survival
Incapable organs remain
I am all consumed
Left to indistinct shadow
I wish I could describe the set-apartness.
The separate plane I subsist from.
Running, constant, incessant diagnostics.
Counting the ever building cost: of existing.
The price my body and mind pay for operating
a micro-cosim of survival.
Never, ever, ever, catching up.
The weight is endless, in my limbs and soul.
There is no respite.
It is being sentenced to a world behind a
plexiglass wall: an isolation in full view of life
I’m sick of being sick.
Time to move on.
I’ve explored every inch of this experience,
and it’s simply not for me, not long term
I think I’ve given it a solid run, but my
resources are exhausted, my relationships are
strained, and my mental health is in taters. To
preserve myself, I think I have to give it up.
I mean, I may have gained some coping skills,
and possibly an increase in empathy. On the
whole though, I chock it up to a colossal
waste of time.
I’m actually not entirely sure what other people
get out of chronic illness, but in all honesty, it’s
a bit tedious for me.
What I’ll do next? Well, anything but that,