The Invisible War

I'm waging a war today. My eyes are bloodshot and sore but, no, they did not get that way from a long night of drinking (oh, how I wish they could have gotten their red tint from drinks). My head pounds. I feel every skipped heartbeat, breath catching in my throat and leaving me a little scared of what each little missed thump means. My cold hands and feet are buried under covers, exhaustion leaves every cell heavy. My stomach churns and threatens upheaval. Today blurs into yesterday and soon tomorrow will become part of that blur. The battle continues.

Perhaps it would be easier for you if my scars were visible. Perhaps you would find it easier if you could see my headache, if I could draw lightning bolts coming out of my forehead and temples. Maybe you could understand a little better if my cold hands and feet turned blue or if each skipped heartbeat could be seen on the outside. If I was bruised and battered on the outside the way I'm bruised and battered on the inside you wouldn't question my illness, how I'm feeling, my disabilities, this war.

I blend in, I look fine, I hide myself beneath this skin that has become a cloak and a mask. You can't see the battles, the battalions that I send out everyday in an attempt to fight an invisible enemy. You can't see the profound amount of energy it takes to do the simple things because so much goes towards fighting off the ever-advancing enemy lines. A shower is exhausting, a trip to the grocery store out of the question on all but my best days, and "pushing it" to go out and do more "fun" things leads to days or weeks in bed recuperating.

This is life. This is the invisible war that no one can see, but I can feel. I fight for myself. I fight for you, that person out there who supports me and cares that I'm here and brightening up the world in whatever small way I can. I fight for my friends, those amazing people who are there for me, even when they themselves are fighting their own wars and feeling as bad as I am (or worse) - they offer themselves unselfishly and I have become more a part of the world even as my body fades and seems to become less a part of it. I fight for life, because the alternative is to give up, and giving up is not an option.

Yours,
Penguini