I get up when I can, get dressed trying to avoid mirrors so the monster that is inside cannot be seen.  I try to go about my daily routines, try to seem as though I am not shrouded in black. I smile when I can, forced here or there, but it all seems a betrayal to the blackness within. My laughter is almost explosive in nature.  The fact that I can laugh, find something funny or amusing gives me hope that the blackness is leaving, although it is but a temporary reprieve from the depressive state I cannot leave behind. The only place I feel secure, feel at home, is under the covers of my bed where no one can see my shame, my weakness, in losing the battle to the black.  It is here where I sob, hoping each tear releases a bit of the blackness, but knowing in my charred heart there is no escape.

I live for today, and today’s a good day.  This has been my way of life since being diagnosed with MS at the age of 21 in 2002.  I readily admit that not every day is good. Some days I want to crawl inside myself, wondering when I will again be in control of my body, my mind, my life.  Yet the good days always come again, usually in the inspiration I gain from my children, and the support and love I receive from my husband. Having MS was not a choice I made. The choice I make is my attitude in dealing with this disease.  I write music, I write poetry, I write to save myself from the feelings that can be overwhelming. Some writings are filled with pain and angst, but many others are filled with gratitude. Gratitude for what I do have, and for what MS will never take from me.