Living with Fibromyalgia
To sleep perchance to rest
To allow the human machine
To heal itself microscopically
To wake without stiffness and pain
My dreams when they come
Are not the snapshots of others
But the novels of a weary subconcious
That disappear in the pain of waking
But sleep does not come easy for me
Muscles twitch and skin itches
Sensitivity tenfold of all senses
Light and sounds are my night banes
Finally exhaustion creeps in
Creating periods of blankness
Which preceed the farce I call sleep
That teases my muscles and nerves
Morning comes and I awake
Feeling like an abandon victim
That had been hit by a truck
And left to die in my own bed
Slowly I move around my house
Like a troll made of stone
Who has just found the power to move
But not the ease of relaxation
By noon I feel human again
Yet I am fatigued and sore
My coordination is flawed
And my memory inconsistant
They have a name for the symptoms
Though only guesses of the cause
They have suggestions for treatment
But no hope for a complete cure
Some days are better than others
Sometimes I can pretend
That I am normal and whole
But it always comes back
Copyright © 1998, Lady Fribble