Tag Archives: sing

Sing me to sleep

Writing from my bed today. I’ve been trying to stay upright in my leather computer chair, forcing myself to do ‘normal’ things instead of lounging all day, but since Sunday night I’ve been well and truly under the blanket of fibromyalgia. I’ve been comforting myself with huge chunks of carrot cake, buttered crumpets, cheese, pints of milk… all the things which make my health and fatigue worse, but I’m craving them like there’s no tomorrow. I need to get back under control.

Yesterday, I went shopping with my mother. Made myself buy only healthy food, in the hope of stopping this binge cycle before it goes too far. I’m back in a size 16 again, when I’d done so well with losing weight. The idea of all the food at Christmas is worrying me; what if I can’t gain control? It’s starting to get me down, and I refuse to go down the depression path so soon after my last wobble.

A letter from the neuroscience centre came yesterday. I have an appointment to see a neurologist on the 5th of January, far sooner than I expected. I know my GP wanted the appointment to come through quickly, but I was expecting at least a month before hearing anything. I’m getting nervous, but these things have to be done.

I’m really tired. Knowing I’ll see S tomorrow is the only thing getting me through this week.


Posted by on December 15, 2011 in Every day life


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A Thousand Questions

I sat alone tonight.


Incense burning.

For the first time,
I can’t stand the music,
they sing words which fit
too well.

I want to confess but the words won’t flow,
and it fills me with fear to lay myself so bare.

I was alone tonight.

Still feeling pressure where your fingers
touched me.

Your taste
on my lips.

Your smell
on my skin.

I want to admit, but it makes me afraid,
it’s all so unpredictable and you’re in control.

I will sleep alone tonight.

Holding tight to memories.

Reading your messages.

Holding on.

I need to speak, but fear keeps me silent,
I want to find a table and lay my cards down for you.

Tonight, I will be alone.

Lulled by tiny blue pills
and imagining your arms holding me, like before.

I want to ask
a thousand questions.

And I’m afraid
of the answers.

(c) 2008.


Posted by on November 8, 2011 in Poetry


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