Sunday, March 27

you don't know that you're toxic to me

A post I wrote three years ago. 

You don’t know
that you’re toxic to me.
Even you, my close friend,
my incredible family.
You don’t see how I hurt
after we’ve talked. As we talk.
How I ache and burn,
How I lie and wait.
You cannot watch,
as I mend myself.
In my private space.
I long to be with you,
you give me joy.
But oh, your humanity is something my body
cannot tolerate. Anymore.
You stimulate me,
violently,
unconsciously.
I leak, adrenalin.
My head, my ears, my heart,
Hurt.
you assault my senses,
overloading me with sight
emotion
scent
presence.
You can’t see my inward battles.
I need you to leave
I feel unwell
Yes, even with you.
But I feel so rude
that I hide my pain.
Or I want to keep talking
despite the discomfort.
I pretend I am normal
but it always destroys my health
a little, or a lot.
I lie to reassure you.
I lie far too often.
I fear telling you the truth,
That your body affects me detrimentally,
of my fragility.
That you, even you,
overwhelm me.
I limit my friends, I can’t always invest
I can’t bare interaction
often, for long.
We ‘need’ to catch up,
that’s what you say.
But those words make me shiver.
No. We don’t.
Don’t oblige me with ‘need’.
Don’t say ‘it’s been too long’.
It’s not long enough, for me,
if I’ve been silent.
You who just wait and gently offer yourself,
when I’m ready.
for however short a time,
without asking for more,
You are the sunshine.
In your patience, your subtle communication,
you restore me
from the terrors of interaction.
You never ask for more than I can give.

You know that you’re toxic
to my body.

I wanted to read it after writing a message today which said something like, thankyou so much for wanting to encourage me, but in person that will exacerbate my pain, can you write it? It's a tough patch. I smile as I read this post, knowing that in the years that followed it, there were seasons where my body was better than this, and there will be seasons again. I smile because now more people than ever know that my body shrivels with stimulation, and they love me despite it. 
 

4 comments:

  1. Of all your posts, this is the one I have loved and identified with the most! I know this too. I just wish i had the courage to express this to friends more often!
    Thank you for posting it again!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm so heartened to hear that, because I feel like this post is uncomfortably true for people to read, it makes me on edge to admit the reality. But this IS our experience and its so nice to know I am not the only person with this sad conundrum. It is one of the worst parts of the whole illness, this sensitivity. Hope you can walk the tightrope well this week xxxx

      Delete
  2. Of all your posts, this is the one I have loved and identified with the most! I know this too. I just wish i had the courage to express this to friends more often!
    Thank you for posting it again!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Juli and Dee this has been my experience so exactly so often, and moreso these past two years of baby- growing and feeding. I've been such a recluse because pain brought on by social stimulation and then the almighty disproportionate hangover. And its so frustratingly invisible, and we are built to be so sensitive and polite, or to remain positive or hopeful and we can't say what we need to.
      It helps me that you two know. And you have both given me your precious social time despite it. xx

      Delete