Unfortunately I have never had a mind for memorizing verses and I have always been fascinated by actors who learn pages and pages of script in a short amount of time. In second grade during Black History Month we had to learn a poem by a black poet and recite it to the class from memory. Being a chicken, but also because the words meant a lot to me in spite of my young age, I chose Still Here by Langston Hughes. The words to this simple yet haunting poem have continued to weave in and out of my head some twenty years later during some dark times of my life including when I was diagnosed with IC.
There are times when it has felt as if the words from my IC blog are like a mandala, a beautiful pattern composed of colorful words, instead of sand, poured out from my heart to try to understand the path of my life lived with IC, the words disappearing into the universe, erased and on a new journey. I find that my words are finding a home with other people all over the world struggling with a disease known by a string of initials-ICPBS- as if we are too frightened to spell out the letters of the disease as if an acronym gives the disease less power over us. I struggle to find the words to convey how much friendships and contacts from people all over the world living with IC means to me. So imagine my surprise when people noticed that my blog entry is 'late' and they asked me if I am ok.
I had one of those crazy weeks filled with something strange, sad or traumatic happening every day. Nothing that I cannot handle because if you can handle IC you can handle just about anything. Yes. I'm still here and I am ok. No, I am more than ok because of the strength and support I receive from people with severe IC who take pause out of their own struggles to check on me. And thank you, Langston Hughes, for penning the poem that has been a touchstone in my life for so many years.
Still Here
been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!
There are times when it has felt as if the words from my IC blog are like a mandala, a beautiful pattern composed of colorful words, instead of sand, poured out from my heart to try to understand the path of my life lived with IC, the words disappearing into the universe, erased and on a new journey. I find that my words are finding a home with other people all over the world struggling with a disease known by a string of initials-ICPBS- as if we are too frightened to spell out the letters of the disease as if an acronym gives the disease less power over us. I struggle to find the words to convey how much friendships and contacts from people all over the world living with IC means to me. So imagine my surprise when people noticed that my blog entry is 'late' and they asked me if I am ok.
I had one of those crazy weeks filled with something strange, sad or traumatic happening every day. Nothing that I cannot handle because if you can handle IC you can handle just about anything. Yes. I'm still here and I am ok. No, I am more than ok because of the strength and support I receive from people with severe IC who take pause out of their own struggles to check on me. And thank you, Langston Hughes, for penning the poem that has been a touchstone in my life for so many years.
Still Here
been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!
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