I feel it creeping,
Crawling across my chest.
Pick up speed as it spreads up my neck.
Temperatures rising,
My skin starts burning.
I don't need to look
I know exactly what is happening.
My rashes are back again.
I can't hide from the truths of Chronic Urticaria,
Raw emotions it carefully paints,
Sketching along my skin.
Five minutes in to a Thirty minute consultation.
My emotions churning around in my head,
My heart pumping.
Uneasiness shooting fire through my veins,
Pain trying to escape,
It needs to find a way out;
My skin bright red,
Eyes glazed over filled with tears.
Unhappiness the forefront of my fears.
I told him, give me a pen and paper
And I could tell you my whole life's story,
But apparently what i need
Is some Talking Therapy.
Thirty minutes, me, a phone and a complete stranger.
My worst nightmare.
Trying to make sense of my mound of messy thoughts,
He tells me he finds the notes he's read from my last consultation;
My first consultation,
Hard to understand.
To make head and tails of it.
Ha!
Try being me.
My past, my difficulties, my insecurities,
My many many losses,
He can see my life's not been a breeze.
He needs to help me organise my memories.
Say's he understands that I'm struggling,
How the current position I'm in is
Causing so much internal suffering.
He wants to help; To fix me.
I guess it's time to admit i am broken.
Finish the conversation,
I'm left as a quivering, emotional mess.
Tears streaming down my face and
My body covered in deep red.
Pain etched across my skin for all to see.
I accept, it's time we tried to fix me.
© Karen L Hamilton, 2015
This is nothing more than a release, my way of trying to digest and process the beginning stages of my talking therapy. Written 2 months ago.