Shadow of Myself

Shadow of Myself

I don’t know who I am anymore,
this shadow slinking between work and home.
Feeling like a narcissist, a user, an abuser as I watch my family do my chores and leave those they don’t get to undone.
No social life to speak of - I gave up those plans long ago.
You may remember me
I was the one who called
Week after week,
Month after month.
To say I couldn’t come -
MIGRAINE.
(Yes.  Again.)

At work, every day I face more questions.
Sick.  Day after day.  My coworkers can’t comprehend.
They say, “but you’re the young one.”
And in their voices and their accusations and even their sympathy I see they’ll never get it
No matter how they try.
‘Cuz their heads don’t hurt.
And even those that do get headaches
AND even THOSE that DO get MIGRAINES
Without chronic pain to as a teacher,
They will never accept that the young get sick.

“And why are you so different now?” they always want to know.
Well, isn’t that the real secret. 
The secret of pain, of hurt, of trying to get by.
And I’ll admit, they’ll never know why I keep my spirit locked way far away
Deep down inside my blackened, charred soul.
But I’ll tell you.
You who travel on this path with me,
You whose temples have throbbed as you plead, “not again!”
You who know of whispers that deafen, twilight that blinds, silk that scratches.
I lock my spirit away to keep it safe and unbruised,
Because my real secret is that when I have a MIGRAINE
I can no longer manage the weight of my bullet-proof armor,
So any tongue lashed in my direction goes straight through.
I can’t take a wound to the heart when I’m already down,
So I have no choice but to leave my shell empty
Except for my shadow.