People have said to me “you never complain!” I smile in response and am quick to point out that they don’t live with me. I suggest they talk to Mr. Legs, who hears plenty of complaining. I thank God for this man and his unwavering love. There are things nobody else sees, but he does see and hear my struggle each day. He alone knows the full extent of how MS affects me. Only he and God hear the anguish in my voice and the mid night utterings of my soul.
Life requires expression and expression comes in different forms. Whatever we feel – happiness, sorrow, excitement, grief or anger, those feelings scream to be demonstrated. I can’t run to clear my mind like others do. I’m unable to dance to show joy. I can’t punch a pillow with adequate force to release frustration. The less I am able to physically express myself, the more I feel the need for verbal expression. Words have taken on more and higher value when I need to vent. Finding the right words can be tricky, but its worth the effort. I’m grateful for those who love me enough to listen. The safety of their tolerance and forgiveness is a haven. And I write. This place is an outlet for me. So yes, I do complain.
Sometimes complaining can’t be formatted into words. I used to have the opinion that some noises during hard work were optional and those who made loud audible sounds while lifting and moving things might be seeking attention from those around them. But now….now I realize that most noises are healthy. Guttural grunting, sighing, and expressions that combine sounds and air are all ways to communicate how we feel. I’m rather fascinated by the sound Arab women make called ululation. Sometimes noises cannot be stifled and are physically required for effort or pain to leave the body. I like the quote I’ve seen that says “pain is weakness leaving the body”. Often, noises I make are involuntary. Expressing myself through noise, whether voluntary or involuntary, just happens. Noises are part of life. I make noises. Sometimes they sound like complaints.
I’m hoping the rhyming of a poem will softly allow a part of me to be understood without causing too much discomfort for others.
This comes with a disclaimer that MS is not this way for everyone, that it has not always been this way for me, nor is it this way for me all of the time. It also might end if I am able to find the right balance of medication to control it.
I whimper, I wail, I cry out in pain.
I wish to be silent, but my wish is in vain.
I snivel, I gripe, I ask for relief.
But there seems to be no end to my grief.
I moan, I scream, it will not subside.
I must in this place learn to abide.
Comfort is elusive, I fuss and I sob.
Managing pain has become a tough job.
I whine and I yell while I mourn what once was.
I weep softly and silently sometimes just because.
I grimace and snarl, I set tight my jaw.
The noises I mutter are an added flaw.
I don’t want to complain but expressing is key.
I wish I didn’t always have to hear me.