Fistula Days

It feels right to walk through the difficult times over again in my mind
To climb the mountain from the beginning to end
Alone
Feels right to give up, to let sadness swallow me for some time
695 days
With a constant whisper in my ear
Slithering suggestions,
“Sleep for three more hours,”
and I do…
I sleep in chase of peaceful dreams
In search for answers from my subconscious mind
695 days
And I am weaker than where I started
I can feel tissue that will never be the same
Stinging and slime
The disgusting becomes ordinary
Just another part of the day
It’s frustrating to hear words of “encouragement,” advice…
I am not broken where it counts,
I do not need to be fixed,
Your well-intentioned words just seem unkind
When I know that I would be just fine
If I could transcend and leave my body behind
695 days of clenched teeth, worry and time…so much time
You begin to feel dumb and a little bit blind
Wondering if this is the rest of my life
Or just a painful blip on the grande radar
Spin through cycles of panic where I wind and unwind
Always ending up at
695 days
And it feels okay
To let sadness swallow me up for a day.
–Leah Ruthe

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