myroomofmirrors

For years I lived with ill health, forever at the doctor, days and weeks in hospital, pills being popped and needles taking my blood far too often. Biopsies and cell counts a normal part of my life.

My body is scarred from operations and I have a drawer full of scans.

For the past 3 or 4 months I have been having headaches, these developed into day long ones and soon week long ones. The last one has been going for about 3 weeks. It peaks then it dies down again to a ‘gentle’ lull, like that of a hangover. This morning I woke up with a terrible headache and decided enough. I went to the doctors ( I hate my doctor, he is a shit) and have been given migraine tablets. I have to try them for a month to see if that is what it is before they go any further. Hopefully they will work.

I hate being ill, I see it as a weakness, as my body being a failure and there is little I can do. Going to bed for the day is torture and not the easiet of things to do with three children in the house!

This is my room of mirrors. My room where everything about me is visable, from every angle. In this room I have to see what is real, what is there and I have to deal with it.

But I still see this is my hiding place, my place to lay things down that I don’t want to see in everyday life. Some of it is heavy and dark and makes me cry all the time, other stuff is fleeting and just for the day. I share this space with people who love me and I trust, people whose opinions I value. They are my friends but aren’t in my home town. I can’t pop round for a coffee and pour my heart out over the table. Sometimes I want and need to be able to let it go without interruption, sometimes I don’t want to share my heart and my thoughts with the world, sometimes I just need to be.

I can cry at anything and very often do!

If someone stood up in a crowd
And raised his voice up way out loud
And waved his arm and shook his leg
You’d notice him

If someone in the movie show
Yelled “Fire in the second row
This whole place is a powder keg!”
You’d notice him

And even without clucking like a hen
Everyone gets noticed, now and then,
Unless, of course, that personage should be
Invisible, inconsequential me!

Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Shoulda been my name
Mister Cellophane
‘Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there…

I tell ya
Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Shoulda been my name
Mister Cellophane
‘Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there…

Suppose you was a little cat
Residin’ in a person’s flat
Who fed you fish and scratched your ears?
You’d notice him

Suppose you was a woman, wed
And sleepin’ in a double bed
Beside one man, for seven years
You’d notice him

A human being’s made of more than air
With all that bulk, you’re bound to see him there
Unless that human bein’ next to you
Is unimpressive, undistinguished
You know who…

Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Shoulda been my name
Mister Cellophane
‘Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there…
I tell ya
Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Shoulda been my name
Mister Cellophane
‘Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there
Never even know I’m there.

Hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut….My weakness is that I care too much…My scars remind me that the past is real…I tear my heart open, just to feel…(Papa Roach)