(((How It Began by FRIEDA HUGHES Poem, CFS)))

Discussion in 'Fibromyalgia Main Forum' started by lenasvn, May 10, 2006.

  1. lenasvn

    lenasvn New Member

    How It Began

    There was first the small sound
    Of a metal wire snapping
    Like a violin string inside my head
    On a long drive South in Australia,
    Me, a passenger.

    The sharp, plaintive note
    Snagged my attention,
    It was followed by a sense of foreboding
    That something was wrong.

    When we stopped I found
    That during our journey my feet
    Had become welded to the floor of the car.
    I tried to lift my legs at the knees
    But the joints where my arms
    Were hooked onto my shoulders
    Had lost their point. My man
    Stared in disbelief
    At my immobility,
    With growing fury he
    Manoeuvred my limbs from the vehicle
    And made me stand.

    If I had to die in order to lie down
    Right there on the pavement
    I would have keeled over,
    Soulless, immediately.

    Weeks later when
    This flu refused to cure
    The blood tests began,
    Followed by a CAT scan
    And psychiatric examination
    To rule out depression.

    They found me sane as anyone could be
    Afflicted by M.E.

    I could not read or concentrate,
    Or walk more than a few
    Dead-legged paces, or talk;
    I found it hard with wooden tongue
    To fix the words in place.

    Inertia flooded my veins,
    Set like concrete,
    And immobilised my working brain,
    It would be almost four years
    Before I read a book again.

    Now, a single question
    About sugar, or not, in tea
    Could render me senseless,
    And sleep was not sleep
    Of rest and waking, but a mud
    Of the mind's making to wade through
    So that strength and cognitive ability
    Were all used up
    By the time my eyes opened.

    The actions of a day
    Were suspended for as long as string,
    Despite my fury, and all my efforts to resist,
    My life as I had known it


  2. UnicornK

    UnicornK New Member

    What an awesome poem. I feel as though someone followed me around, read my mind and took notes.

    Someone is speaking for us, and it feels GOOD!

    Thank you so much for sharing this with us.

    God Bless.
  3. sleepyinlalaland

    sleepyinlalaland New Member

    to hear this miserable and maligned condition made into poetry.

    Some may be interested to know that Frieda Hughes is the daughter of poet Sylvia Plath and English poet Ted Hughes. (Sylvia's life is currently being made into a movie starring Gwyneth Paltrow)