Falling to Find Myself – A Poem

The world wasman-rising-up-hand-11098229

falling

around me. I

tried to take

a step, but

the floor rose

up

to meet me,

as if it

wanted to give

me an embrace.

I knew that

something was wrong,

that my body

was not my

own anymore.

I waited months

for a diagnosis,

longing to know

the name of

the beast that

now resided within

me, while at

the same time

dreading the outcome.

What shadow lay

within me? And

more importantly, could

I accept it

once it had

a human name?

While I waited,

I fell again

and again, my

body rebelling against

what I wanted

it to do.

When I did

finally get an

answer, the symptom

was like a

voice in the

wind, there but

fleeting. There, but

like gossamer within

my grasp. As

I tried to

relearn what my

body was and

what I house

inside my skin,

I took steps

towards getting better.

I started on

the inside, focusing

on the Spirit

and then the

heart. Only then

would I be

strong enough to

tackle the biggest

obstacle: my body.

I found solace

in Reiki, found

guidance in Tarot

cards, found comfort

in Manifestation, in

choosing my own

path. I was

still falling, still

letting the ground

rise up to

meet me, its

concrete embrace somehow

comforting because it

was something familiar

now. However, each

time I got

up, each time

I pulled my

body upright and

brushed off the

dust left behind

from my concrete

embrace, I was

stronger. Each time

I got back

up and refused

to stay down,

I found a

little bit more

of myself. I

could see the

pieces of the

chalice that had

been within me

littering the street

like diamonds, glittering

in the half

sunlight of mid-day.

I gathered each

one as I

found them, following

their luminescence towards

the future. Each

time I took

one in my

grasp, it lay

in my hand

for a moment,

but would then

sink into my

skin. I could

feel the chalice

rebuilding itself within

me, the shards

and pieces fusing

together. As each

piece found its

mate, the light

within me grew

stronger. I wasn’t

just falling. I

was falling to

find myself, the pieces

of me that

I had lost.

With each piece,

I took back

more of myself,

regained the pieces

of me that

I had thought

to be lost.

Each time I

stood up again,

I wasn’t merely

regaining my footing.

More than that,

I was reclaiming

myself, I was

rising

for a new

day, for a

new dawn, for

a new me.

Every time I

got back up,

I was telling

myself that the

disease wouldn’t win,

and that was

enough.

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