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Honesty Is Pain

It is difficult to write honestly.  I think that goes double when you rely upon others for your daily care.  How does one say what they really think? How do I let it all hang out, warts and all?

I believe it is impossible to be positive 100% of the time.  If you knew this about me, would you still like me?  I have prided myself on my positive attitude in the face of this freight train of a disease.  And I am ashamed of my negative emotions.  But I feel I shall burst apart in the clichéd million tiny pieces if I hold in all of this pain.

In the past few weeks I have cried so many tears, literally gagging on my emotions that erupt out of me at inopportune times.  My mate does little to try to stem the flow, except that he doesn't want me to scream too loudly so the neighbors know what's going on, or write about my pain so that family or friends are alerted. Is it that he is abusive? Yes. And truthfully, so am I. Pride? Hardly! Bald-faced truth.  Our world has been turned upside down. I've gone from high-energy multitasker, making a home and earning a paycheck to the sedentary bump on a log against my will

This disease, raging through my body, changes my abilities not just on a daily basis, but by the hour. I don't know from one minute to the next if I can press a button on a sensitive touch screen. Or if my legs can hold me as I transfer from wheelchair to toilet. This is not fear born of the unknown rather it is fear from experience. I still bear the bruises on my backside from my last miscalculation doing just that.
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