This isn’t new to me anymore; feeling weak, temperature rising, and taking medicine. Life has been this way and I am used to it. I am told that I was born a dead baby. I didn’t make a sound when I was out of my mother’s womb. My mother cried and my grandmother folded me with the blank sheet. I was left on the bed next to my sobbing teen mother. People were discussing how I should be buried and how they could help my mother feel better. I have heard this stories a thousand times and never once believed it.
Last week, this story came for a visit and it caught me by surprise. Again, I found myself in a hospital. I slept there for half a day. I went to work the next day. I found some red dots all over my body so I went back home. Before I knew it, I ended up here on the hospital bed once again. This isn’t the last bed I slept on. It’s the new one with new doctors and nurses. New building and new room.
Been asleep for hours that makes me feel dizzy and weaker. The more I sleep, the sleepier I become, and the more I try to sleep. I eat and sleep and eat and sleep.
This morning I woke up again feeling lost and felt distressed and anxious. However, there is a space where I always look out to; the window. I love looking at it and see things. Each time I look at it, I see different picture, perspective. Tell me what you see when you looking out the window.
Meanith Notes 