Power

Just under my heart in the middle of my torso was the organ that controlled my power.  Now there is this gaping hole as though someone punched a fist through me.  And every now and then my breath stutters and catches as though it can not quite make the jump across the empty space.

At first I thought my power organ was malfunctioning, I felt so weak.  But then I realised it was gone and since I didn’t wake up in an ice bath with a note saying it was missing…. and I didn’t donate it, someone must’ve stolen it.

When you have the ability to generate power, you take it for granted.  It is not until you feel powerless that you realise the huge loss.  You get power from little things, from working or studying and feeling useful, from making decisions for yourself, no matter how small, from feeling beautiful, or at least deciding to do something about it when you don’t, from being self-reliant, completely independent and from being you, being who you are meant to be whatever that is.

If you are chronically ill, those power sources are no longer an option.  And in fact you deplete your power in much bigger increments, because you are completely reliant on others, to clean, to change your bed, to shop, to go to the doctor, sometimes even to bathe.  When you cannot choose to simply get up and make breakfast, when you hurt yourself making toast, you lose a lot of that sense of power.

I bleed power; it seeps from me in an ever-flowing torrent.  No more can I work or study to feel useful and powerful.  No more can I exercise, get my hair cut and dyed, or even apply makeup to feel beautiful.  No more can I look after myself, do anything without consulting somebody and developing a strategic plan to achieve the smallest goal.  And no more do I feel like me, because I am trapped inside, kept hostage, diluted and whispering from eons away.  I can barely remember me.

So I am looking for a power organ donor.  I’m not sure I’ll make it without one.