What gives you the right?

I didn’t ask you to move in. You arrived unannounced and just waltzed into my life. You don’t let me waltz any more. I used to love dancing. Ballroom and Latin, and the rhythm of Reggae. You stopped all that. Now I can only watch and try not to cry.

You don’t let me walk either. For hours I wandered through hills and forests. I climbed over rocks. I looked at the scenery. Since you joined me, it’s too difficult. It takes all my concentration to stop you throwing me off balance and send me crashing to the ground. I don’t know if I can pick myself up.

What gives you the right to take over my life and control my every move? You’re with me for every second. You made me give up work and shifted my place in the world. You changed how I see myself. You dragged me to where I didn’t want to go. You’re unstoppable like a train with no brakes.

You cover me in a lead blanket of fatigue. You’re clever. I’ve no energy to fight you. You’ve numbed me all over. Fingers too fumbly to hold anything. You give me tremors, fear and uncertainty. Just how much do you think I can cope with?

And yet, despite all that you do, there is one thing you can never take from me.

Words. Words don’t need the pen I can’t hold in order to be written. Words will take me to places you can’t stop me from going to. Words create the worlds I dream of. Dreams are full of imagination and hope. And hope is all that matters.