The hospital discharged me
with paperwork,
prescriptions,
and the expectation
that I could somehow resume being a person.
The monitors came off.
The IV came out.
The pain did not.
It followed me home.
Sat beside me in the car.
Climbed the stairs with me.
Laid down beside me in bed.
People think healing looks like recovery.
Most days it looks more like surviving.
Answer the text.
Return the call.
Pay the bill.
Feed the dog.
Smile.
Perform.
Perform.
Perform.
As if my body isn't pulling itself apart behind the curtain.
As if my nervous system isn't firing alarms into empty hallways.
As if every simple task doesn't require negotiations with pain.
The strangest part isn't being sick.
It's discovering how many people still expect a show.
The world does not stop because you're suffering.
It simply asks if you've tried suffering more quietly.
About the Creator
Syl De'Vil
Air Force SF veteran, mother, witch, Bone collector, gremlin. skip tracer, I throw knives, and write about life and love and the lack there of all stitched from insomnia. I am just a girl, looking in the void, trying to fit in where I don't
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