Frustration: one woman's story
I used to have a life. I never was a sprinter,
not even as a child, but yet I had a life.
I trained as a dancer, and worked to pay my way;
and later on I went off and danced upon the stage.
Then I got got married, and had a bunch of children,
One, two, three; and, still only 21,
I did the things that mothers do, cleaned the house,
the school run, helped my husband with his work,
went to church, taught sunday School, camping with the kids.
Life was very busy.
I took my dogs for long walks up into the hills,
and life was hard but nonetheless
I coped as much as anyone and maybe more than some,
and never did I guess, not even for a minute,
that one day soon my life would end, well, life as I knew it.
Who could have known a bout of flu, or something very like it,
would lay me so low? Would take away my freedom,
and leave me a prisoner of this too solid flesh?
To be reduced to this! A dessicated vegetable
too weak to hold a cup of tea, too tired to even think.
I went to the doctor, and he of course looked cynical,
Well, I was a woman. And middle aged at that!
I must be depressed. Or better yet, neurotic.
And ever since then, I’ve done the rounds of blood tests,
and “Are you depressed?�“No� I try to tell them.
I went to University and got a good degree.
Does this sound like depression?
I rather think not. And only exhaustion
made me give up on my longed for PhD.
But still and yet they ask me boringly, repeatedly,
“Are you depressed?�No, I’m frustrated, I need to get a life!
My body won’t allow me to do the things I want to do,
to walk and dance and sing, oh how I long to sing!
I want to dance the night away just like I used to do,
or even go out walking, or maybe for a holiday.
Instead I watch TV, and chat to people on the net
and, quietly and unobserved, go out of my mind.
by
Orange Blossom /Christine
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