Broken door- Invaded life.

Apart from the obvious pain, the most devastating thing about my mother’s illness is its arrogance.

Her illness is everywhere. Waltzing into lives, the illness sets up camp and sits comfortably. Not only does it destroy you physically, but mentally and emotionally. Its arrogance stems far, and not only gets to the sufferer, but to those around.

It’s not like others. Some illnesses have sympathy. Albeit they are there, but there’s indication that the illness is urging the sufferer to fight back. Medicines and other forms of relief help to banish the illness, and you note that time in your life as an event, not as a killer, like my mother’s illness.

It plays horrific games with you. It challenges you to the surgical table, rounds of biopsies and the ultimate challenge of life. It deceives you. It plays along with you. You step up to the challenge and tests show in your favour. You attempt to move on, but obviously won’t forget. Slowly your life becomes less about the therapy and the hospital visits, and more about holidays and fun nights out. But when you’re sitting down, the illness comes knocking at your door. The illness has returned.

My mother’s illness sadistically sneers when comes with friends. It comes along with its friends Liver failure and internal shutdown and you just have no more. You can’t shut the door because the arrogance of the illness has it firmly open.

The illness and its allies take lives. They take the lives of the sufferer and those around. And even if you don’t physically die, the illness has killed apart of you.

“Physical ills are the taxes laid upon this wretched life; some are taxed higher, and some lower, but all pay something.” ~Lord Chesterfield

Some poems are better read aloud; this Is one of them. None the less, this is my 'better read aloud' poem

This is the poison that you know you’re taking, touring around this unholy world.

In the pretend surreal, we welcome the drinks and leave the honesty.
Internal cries of suppressed emotions battle the make believe- Look at me...I’m so unhappy.

With his arrogant arm slapped across my naked shoulder, the good world has past and this-is-my life.

Slide the drinks; take a pic, if I took my pick I know I wouldn’t be here. But I’m here.
And I’m just sitting here. What am I actually doing here?

She comes over and taps my shoulder “Are you ok?”
“Yeah yeah, I’m fi- ‘’ -
She brushes me off because he brushed her thigh; so I close my tainted eyes and remain in this unholy world. I said this isn’t a- good life!

Girls going up and down, fanning themselves with the blouse they just took off. I’m not them, but we simultaneously gleam the dispirited emotion slowly killing us on the inside.

I hear Donaeo. I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t be here because books of ‘How to survive uni’ sit dustily on top of my desk.
You know what sits on top of that? My worries.
And you know what sits on top of that? My mother’s concern.
I’ve come to uni, and what have I actually learnt...

I’ve learnt to skank.