The Invasion of Holiday Loneliness

by Dr. Margaret Aranda


Those of us with a chronic, disabling illness go through a lot of 'ups and downs' in our life. Especially is we were formerly athletic, wore high heels, had a muscular body, or were just in good shape, things change. It is as if we live in a body that doesn't belong to us. For someone who has never been disabled, you can only imagine this; you are not "in" this Special Club. For those in the Club, you know of what I speak. I've written books, blogs, short stories, scientific Abstracts, and a myriad of types of writing, but the Holidays bring out a certain kind of sadness that I know. That we all know. So, here is my attempt at poetry in the raw, from that black pit that wants to overcome me and you with destruction, because there is no good in it. I only share it with you so that some of you can relate, knowing you are not the only one.

You are with Me During the Invasion of Holiday Loneliness

I just want this day to end.

I just want it to be behind me.

I know I have a future with God,

but this is not the time

to be reminded.

I am drowning,

but I know I can find the air.

I can see the rippling sky so high above me,

and although my warfare gear sucks me down,

I take it off and leave it behind,

so I can make it to my next breath.

My lungs want to pop,

my ears are full of pressure.

But I give one last huge, gigantic kick

and finally,

I grab on to a wall that saves me.

With one enormous, deliberate inspiration of air,

I shiver and I shake, scared.

I look around and can not distinguish people,

but I can hear the music

and all the party chatter, and in horror,

I realize that no one even missed me.

So I close my eyes and stop seeing,

and I stop listening to the music,

I feel you behind me and I turn around slowly.

And as I am taking that second breath of air, 

I look up, but you are but a blur.

In time, however, the blinks of my eyes erase the blur of you,

transforming you into who you truly are,

Dear Lord, and I thank you for not leaving us,

for not forsaking me,

even to the end of time.

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Short Stories about Dr. Margaret Aranda

Age 1: A Baby on the Edge

Age 2: Getting Past the Edge of the Bed

Age 3: The Edge of the Cliff

Age 4: Don't Panic

Age 5: The Edge of the Pool

Age 6: Glistening in the Moonlight

Age 7: The Pigeon Boy, The Suction Bush, and The Darkness

Age 8: Selling Cupcakes

Age 9: Sitting on the Edge of the Cave

Age 10: Mr. Bubble

Age 11: Chasing the First Kiss

Age 12: Keeping the Best of the 70's

Age 13: Everything Just So

Age 14: Too Young to Know

Age 15: The Last Thing I Remember

Age 16: Graduating High School

Age 17: Working Working Working

Age 18: How Things Were

Age 19: I Read it in a Book

Age 20: Ways that Can Never Be Forgotten

Age 21: Christmas Carols

Age 22: My Own Crisis

Age 23: A Bloody Mess

Age 24: Applications

Age 25: Leaving One Era and Starting Another

Age 26: Studying through My Tears

Age 27: Repeating the First Year of Medical School

Age 28: Changes

Age 29: Match Day

Age 30: Graduating and Being on the Bottom

Age 31: The Color Blue