August 9, 2010
Cloaked beneath my red cape of medication peaks, I am confused as a superhero wearing my practiced smile of hiding pain while mentally devising continual strategies to circumvent triggers. Superman…courageous, strong, fighting the relentless onslaught of syndrome symptoms.
In recognizing only my strength, my fragile vulnerability is often overlooked by those who admire the perceived superman within me. Misunderstood, the seriousness of my SPS is often trivialized or dramatically emphasized. SPS becomes the entire focus of me. A rare oddity, I have been treated with condescension, pity, scrutiny, curiosity, and sometimes cruelty.
I am not a hero nor a victim, but a woman. Perseverance and hope are the only options to emotional death. I dream. I feel. And alone, I cry. It’s not easy to be me.
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