the color orange, and other things twisted by chronic illness

calm after the storm

maybe it's an expectation

that people with chronic illnesses

have a kind of resigned sadness

resting within them.

and i don't know 

about others

but

there is a kind of angry

hiding behind my smile.

waiting

waiting

waiting

for a split second

when i don't have 

the energy

to hold it back.

and then, 

i am an earthquake. 

there are stages 

to an earthquake.

step one: the buildup

the strain of a chronic illness

is gradual.

at the start, 

it is more bearable.

annoying,

painful,

frustrating,

but bearable.

i am strong.

i will bear it.

but no one 

can be perfect

forever.

the strain builds up.

step two: breaking point

everything is

at its peak pressure.

the pain has gone on

for one too many days.

life has been

put on hold

one too many times

because of a flare.

everything is

ready 

to snap.

step three: the beginning

the things on the table

begin to wobble

ever so slightly,

sensing the start 

of an earthquake.

my hands 

begin to shake.

my breaths

get shorter.

and 

then,

step four: the crescendo

my hands turn to fists 

and slam down 

on the table.

my breath hitches

falling into a rhythm 

of desperate inhales and exhales

that never satisfy

which only makes

the cycle quicken

in a panic.

the walls shake

and all i can do

is yell

or sob

or shake silently

because no words

can capture

how wrong 

everything feels

in my core.

step five: the aftermath

the earthquake

runs its course.

i cannot scream anymore.

my body is too tired

to make a fist.

i sit for a moment

just feeling. 

feeling the newfound silence 

feeling my hands un-tense

feeling the less talked about

calm after the storm.

and then,

i pick myself up

and carry on with my life.