everyone is in bed except me.
as I'm typing this, I look down at my left arm,
and I see eight new marks on it.

these marks will be scars
that I will always have.
they show me the reality
that my body is not okay.

this surgery will hopefully
have fixed this pain.
but there are so many other parts of me,
inside most of my body,
that hurt.

so much of the time.

sometimes I wonder,
is this what the rest of my life will be like?
will I always be this limited?
and i just don't know.

when I talk with others about it,
the few I really open up to about it,
I tell them I must do all the things to help,
so I can know I'm doing everything possible.

but really, sometimes I just want to stop.
it hurts.  bad.
I don't have the energy, the will,
to do the exercises, the research,
the more.

and so, sometimes I sit and stare.
sometimes I sit and cry.
and sometimes I think of
all the ways I wish I could move my body
but can't and probably never will again.

and then I feel worse.

because I don't feel like me anymore.