…ongoing selection of works out of my own inner universe…
[click on any picture to start gallery slide view]
You are stretching and stretching to reach any goal
Eventually something will snap and you fall
Again you stretched yourself too far
Leaving you marked with yet another scar
Back in the safety of your shell you recover
Knowing the next stretch will only be tougher
But by avoiding the stretching due to the risk
You would never get anything done, as it is…
As a child I was evaluated by teachers and therapists to be gifted with a talent in languages. That’s really funny, given that my words – spoken or written – mostly feel like insufficient attempts to express myself somehow to others. Often it feels like words are never quite right, not enough, no matter which language.
And than there are moments when my personal thoughts-to-words translation matrix is not responding at all. It is all clear in my mind, an entire freaking universe, but the ability to translate any of those images and concepts into speech is temporarily out of order. This can be especially annoying whenever I want to or have to explain myself to someone for whatsoever reason, because in those cases I’m often not even able to make any sense out of the words spoken to me, it all just sounds like gibberish.
…hanging on, surrounded by the void of uncertainty, clenched on a thinning rope. Trying everything to avoid the questions, how long the rope or my hold onto the same will last. Just holding on, while waiting for new medical test results…
…apparently it makes no difference in taking prednisone over some months or just a few days, the aftermath is still the same when quitting. One week of total hormonal turmoil, like a temporary compressed deep depression experience. No grounding technique helps, one just has to hang on somehow until it’s over, trying not to end up banging one’s head against the wall. Definitely not an experience I want to repeat…
Based on a conversation about how it feels to deal with bureaucracy while experiencing brain fog and fatigue:
Imagine you have to fill an important form, but you are unable to process, to make any sense of what you see, nor make the necessary connections in your mind needed to fill the form. You feel like your synapses responsible for cognitive skills are all curled up like black marbles resting in jelly. You stare at the form and it just stares right back at you, turning into a frightening monster. The pen supposed to fill it turns into a weapon too heavy for you to wield…
…and the dragon whispers in my ear:
“Come and dance with me
In the deep sea of your phantasy”
I always follow the dragon, because reality often is like playing battle chess with dice on a twisted board…
…imagine the roof of your house is brittle and your ceiling threatens to fall down and crush you. You call the handyman, but all he can do is ripping out your windows and doors, using them to support your ceiling for a while longer. That leaves your interior open for wind, weather and all kind of invasions. To patch up the holes in your walls where windows and doors used to be, you only have a roll of duct tape and a few sheets of bubble wrap.
This is exactly how it feels taking the immunosuppressant Methotrexate to treat an inflammatory autoimmune disease.
I can continue to be angry with the handyman for the bad work, feeling like poisoning myself, but it will lead to nothing. There is no better option yet. It’s time to make peace:
Dear Methotrexate,
what about a peace treaty? I will stop calling you bad names and you in return don’t drown me in your side effects too much? Do we have a deal?
‘Fatigue’ (or ‘Extended Cuddle Time’, as the cat calls it) The cat: “From cat’s perspective you are totally fine. You doze all day on several cushioned perches across house and garden, when your human comes home from work he cuddles and feeds you, you love snuggling and hiding beneath warm blankets. Besides, since you are on that poison you call ‘medicine’ you shed like a Persian special breed and leave through the front door only for occasional vet/doctors visits.”
…ok, I declare myself a Persian cat. I can live with that…
…I strongly believe it’s just a matter of finding the right balance to juggle safely everything what life throws at us. At least on some days.
On other days I just want to believe…
On our tears of grief
you are sailing away
leaving a plain of slash and burn
in the garden of our lives
May our tears of grief
extinguish the fire
water the wasteland
so that can grow and thrive
what you have gifted us from your wonderful nature in your lifetime
…the moment I looked into his eyes and realized, he was close to the end. The last days of my beloved father…
…retreated in a shell
curled up
unapproachable
in safety
…only when the breath stops bubbling out
the shell turns from safety into prison
and there will be just another ghost in the shell…
…he was told a stone can not feel pain
So he turned into stone.
What he was not told:
A stone can not feel hope and love either…
