Ghost

Don't get it.
You don't get it.
I'm so sorry.
but you don't get it.
What is happening in my heart.
You don't understand.
Countless have tried,
tried to break into the shell that
builds up around me now.
But don't damage it.
There is a reason it's there.
For, beneath it I am more tender
than I have ever been...
Because of this,
because of what happened,
My body is weak.
I cannot run, can't walk for very long,
can't jump much,
can't twist wrong,
can't
can't
can't.
There are thousands of things I can no longer do.
Not without pain.
Not without a constant, relentless
ache,
stabbing,
beyond comprehension.
weakness,
numbness,
cold.
These things plague my lower limbs
if I go too hard,
if I do something wrong.
As a result,
my life has slowly wound down
to nothing more than
quiet.
soft things.
"Do gentle things"
"don't push yourself"
my doctor says.
"Just try and rest"
So, I am still.
I rest.
and the pain has faded,
to only occasional weakness, and some
kinds of pain, only once or twice a day do I need to sit down and
shake,
waiting for it to pass.
This instead of a constant battle.
This instead of tasting blood as I bite my tongue, stopping the cries of pain,
stopping the sobs as my legs give out,
leaving me crumpled on the ground.
So now I sit here,
going from running six miles a day to being unable to
walk one.
going from feeling power bloom inside of me,
life pounding in my body,
filling me with violent passion,
a vigor beyond words,
the vitality soaring high...
to weakness echoing down dusty halls.
to a numb tremble in my veins,
and memories of those days when
I could truly fly.
I am left here,
with those I love cooing at me,
telling me I'm doing well,
that this motionless life is okay,
that I need to
rest.
be still.
A melancholy has settled in me.
It's heavy,
so I used to it still the old fervor
that pushed me onwards in those
days.
I used it to choke out
the fire that made
me live.
I use it as a weight to keep me tethered and contained,
behaving as I should.
I use the words of those who love me
to smite the desire to break free,
using the crumbling memory of pain
to still the urge to
run.
But it has been years,
almost three.
and my defenses are wearing thin.
I see the old ways,
the old friends doing as I used to.
I see others smiling as they grow stronger,
as they use their bodies
in an active life,
breathing heavily and feeling lightheaded.
I watch as they learn,
learn to push beyond the helplessness,
and conquer.
I watch as they claim complete control of their fate,
over when they feel pain and when they don't.
I see as they move forward, unhindered and unafraid.
I watch them...
ad hate.
hate myself so completely,
for falling into this ruin.
Weakness inhabits the very core of me,
my body soft and limp,
no muscle to lend it power.
all heavy things must be done for me.
all lifting,
all strenuous things.
I am looked after,
cared for as if
I am fragile.
I despise myself.
hate that I can't work to be stronger,
to fight my own fights.
Hate that no longer do I lead
an active life.
Despise that I lay here every day
and do nothing.
grow atrophied day by day,
my life ticking by as I wait for someone to give
me an answer.
Doctor after doctor has
said it's nothing.
they can see nothing wrong with me.
So,
it's in my head?
A man I greatly respected had said to me
that it was, that I was letting it drag me down.
was he right?
Am I allowing myself to fall victim to
this?
this circumstance?
Am I laying here dying
because of a
phantom?
a phantom in my
head?