Purple Pain

 Twenty-Two years ago,

It was awakened inside of me, 

At the scene of the car accident,

That created a perpetual anxiety,

Whenever I drive. 

Looking back on things,

With everything I know now at my disposal,

It all makes sense.

Being sick,

All. Of. The. Time.

Skin and scalp problems.

Joint deterioration. 

Physical over-reactions to stress. Like gray hair in 10th grade.

Super low blood pressure.

Weight fluctuations.

And pain. 

Pain that sucked the air out of my lungs. 

Pain that made it unbearable to stand, sit, lie down.

Breathe.

Pain that sent me to the ER one Thanksgiving. 

Pain caused by stress. 

It was awakened and thriving,

Invisible and nameless.

Until I tested positive for arthritis,

At 24-years-old.

And 8 vials of blood.

And 2 weeks later.

I had a diagnosis. 

Poor me.

Handed a death sentence I paid to receive. 

And politely thanked the doctor for handing it to me.

Left to grieve the life I'd planned for myself.

Alone.

Believers were the worst. 

Challenging my faith.

Deciding it was weak since my body was.

The audacity. 

My family was a close second.

Completely unsupportive and dismissive. 

Uncertain and afraid,

I made a series of decisions,

That forever changed my life. 

I carried a soul.

Sacrificed what little health I had.

For 37 weeks and a day,

Terrified to misstep. 

I've never desired a person's cries.

Not until that August morning.

Lying paralyzed from the waist down,

On a table,

In a brightly lit,

Sterile room,

Surrounded by strangers,

And my mom.

Holding my breath.

Relief only available at the sound of a cry.

Survival. 

Mode. 

Activated.

Until I die. 

Survival is imperative.

Point blank.

Period.

It's been more than 11 years since I prayed to hear that cry.

Eleven years of operating in exhaustion,

Out of love.

Unconditionally. 

Eleven years of provision.

Eleven years of becoming mentally healed and whole.

Eleven years of teachable moments,

New recipes,

Sleepless nights,

Cleaning extra laundry and mess,

Of cuddles,

Of fierce protectiveness. 

And of a decline in health.

This awakened beast only takes short naps,

Every once in a while. 

Shadows of ferocious flares never leave me.

A constant reminder of weakness and pain. 

And God.

Who gives me strength.

Each day,

Of each week,

Of each month,

Of each year,

For the 11 years that I've wished I hadn't taken the first 26 for granted.

For the next unknown number of years, I'll spend grateful,

For the 11 years I've already been gifted.