broken free

THE INVISIBLE WEIGHT (autoimmune disease / chronic illness) They see my face, not the fight beneath it. I say I’m fine because explaining it takes more than I have left to give. I grieve the girl who could just go, make plans without wondering if her body would say no. I miss the ease, the unbraced breath, the life that didn’t feel like negotiating with myself. I’m bone-deep tired, the kind sleep can’t mend. My day starts exhausted before it can end. My limbs feel like lead, my thoughts slip and stall. I’m fighting to function while looking fine to them all. Every meal is a question, every symptom a sign. Will this make me sick? What will tomorrow cost this time? I’m scared of the flare, of the pain, of the loss, of how much of my life my own body has cost. And people drift off when you can’t keep pace. You miss enough plans and they stop saving you space. No fight, no goodbye, just a slow disconnect. You’re still in their world, just easier to forget. I learn every term, every test, every sign, read pages of research at three in the night. I walk in with proof of the pain I endure, still fighting for someone to believe me for sure. I shouldn’t need charts to be taken as true. I shouldn’t need breaking to prove what I go through. And love gets complicated when your body says no. When your heart wants to go but your limbs won’t let go. You wonder who’ll stay when the good days grow few, when you’re still you inside but can’t do what you used to. I miss being careless. I miss being free. I miss trusting my body to carry me. So when I go quiet, please don’t call it retreat. There’s a war in my body that won’t let me sleep. When I cancel, I’m grieving. When I’m distant, I’m drained. When I say I am trying, believe me. I am. I’m still the same woman beneath all this pain. I have not lost my heart. I have not lost my name. But I’m tired of being told I don’t look sick enough to explain why surviving can be this damn tough. The weight is invisible. The damage is real. And the hardest part isn’t just how much I feel. It’s watching my life become smaller each year, while the world keeps on moving like I’m not even here. I’m not asking for pity. I’m asking you to see the person you remember is still here, underneath. I’m not less of a woman. I’m not less alive. I’m just mourning the life I can’t reach from inside. Kyoko W.P.