No food.
Still arguing thresholds, not starved enough yet for admission.
Care reduced to criteria.
Life can’t be planned.
I get angry. It’s the wrong reaction, but a predictable one.
This illness is insidious.
It removes people from reality and cannot be reasoned with.
Time sits still, waiting….
Recovery or Death ?
Suspended inside the illness.
Blessed for the strength that keeps moving me forward, alone.
The Lady in the Back Row 