Sometimes I forget that I am sick
My days fly by in flashes of orange and pink
I feel good, I forget that I have limits and I forget what is inside of me
I just feel normal.
And then I fall.
Walking down the stairs like I have done one thousand times before.
To a twenty-five-year-old the hand rail seems more like decoration than necessity.
Until my feet fall out from under me and my stomach drops
It seems to hit the ground long before my body does.
My phone goes flying across the room as my hands forget their previous task and grasp frantically at the underappreciated railing.
Water soaks into the carpet, and the dropped glass winks at me from the top of the stairs where we both fell, daring me to smile through the pain.
Sometimes, I forget that I am sick.
I don’t remember that my body cannot do some of the things it used to
My back hurts from the fall last week and my arms are speckled with bruises like an overripe pear.
I don’t forget to use the hand rails anymore.
When I look in the mirror, I see the same girl I’ve always known
I don’t see the lesions and I don’t see the pain.
Invisible Illness. That’s the name of my game.
The dark circles under my eyes
and constellation of bruises are all I have of physical proof.
I learn new things like to hold on tight when I am going down the stairs,
to rest when I am weak, and to cherish when I am not.
I remember to go slowly; my body can’t always keep up with what my brain has in mind.
I learn to laugh at the falls, and to not worry about the mistakes that I make.
Sometimes I forget that I am sick, but I never forget that I am strong.