fredag 17 juni 2011



I colored my pain beautiful. Stop the war, badge says. No more atomic bombs! (In my joints.)(Fingers.) (Used to use them for work.)

Yellow is yelling - pain as sour as lemon. Like a cover-up or extra-skin.

See my eyes? Ever had neurological pain like glowing pins in the pupil?
Blue is icy neuro-pain, red is hammering, orange glowing.
The football is the trauma. The whole mess was named PTSD by my doctor. Post-traumatic stress-disorder. Ok, I said. Happy to have a name for this. It means my soul is aching? Yes, my Angel in White replied. Then the soul must be the biggest organ of the organism? I asked. She smiled, said nothing. I saw what she meant. It was all in my head. So here you look into the head of a patient of patience. For three years I got still worse. An expanding soul that crap was. By some kind of accident, a blood-sample was taken. "You have borrelia," she said. And then no more. What is that, I thought. After 3½ years. I found it on Google. OMG! 78 symptoms - I got bingo on 67. There it was! My Prison - no PTSD. What I hadn't got? Dementia, death, erection-disorder (well - I am a woman, but with lyme you never know).
I made an opening on top of the cell, just to get out of my skin some time.

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