Kirstie Sivapalan
You can gather from the title today is not a good day. Yesterday wasn't great either but today, has definitely been what those of us with mild-moderate M.E call a Bad Day. I wanted to write today. I also wanted to do some housework. I wanted to go to the library and maybe stop off… Continue reading Ode to a Bad Day
I wrote this poem after texting my husband to pick up some milk. It occurred to me that there are relationships everywhere that at some point one will send this message to the other. I then reflected on what that request meant to me in my relationship and realised it's depth. Hidden in this mundane… Continue reading The carer’s career
Want to know what gratitude feels like? Take away the every day... Take away getting ready for work Take away opening jars, making tea, standing while it brews Take away hats, scarves, sunglasses, flipflops Take away cosy chats, feisty debates, gossiping girls Take away walking, running, cycling, swimming Take away everything you never knew you… Continue reading The formula for Gratitude
Burning brightly, joyously. Solidly. Creating life-force and essential fire, until it falls - Shadow Only glimmers struggle to stay Reminders of what lies behind The shadow sits, weighty and cold Dense and obstinate, refusing to leave It stifles and suppresses its enemy - Light For a while it wins. All that once shone removed Pain.… Continue reading The eclipse
Yesterday I had that moment all aspiring writers have. "Why I am doing this? Am I even any good? Am I just indulging myself? Should I even bother sharing my work?" I allowed myself some time to reflect on this, to ask the question without a furious search for the right answer. Instead I remembered… Continue reading Composure
"What do you do?", you say I know what you want to hear - I am a this, I am a that, I am employed, valid, salaried, PAYED As you are. You want me to make sense to you. You want me to be part of the world as you know it. Yet my full… Continue reading My full time job
Some days I just want to sit under a tree. This is the Bank Holiday day we always dream of but very rarely see. Powder blue sky, lush green trees at the height of their vibrancy, parks full of string bikinis, string vests, local boys impressing local girls with too-loud music, bare stomachs and alcopops.… Continue reading My Bank Holiday and M.E
Today I am angry, not just mildly displeased or irked but gut wrenchingly, blood boilingly, fist clenchingly, teeth grindingly, word spittingly, ear steaminlgy angry and try having all of those things going on whilst your trying to be articulate. So do I have 5 minutes of your time? Will you indulge this tantrum and […] via… Continue reading Reblog: From a fellow M.E warrior. Listen to her roar!
"The place where words don't work" This powerful line is one of many exquisite literary morsels that I uncovered in Donna Tartt's novel The Goldfinch. This particular phrase, a good hundred pages in, was one I particularly savoured, even with its ironic bitter aftertaste. A place where words don't work. Why would someone who works… Continue reading The place where words don’t work
Back in Primrose Hill. My body is still fizzing from the acupuncture treatment. What a curious sensation it is. Pain and pleasure mixed so well together that you cannot distinguish the two. Like the sudden relief from the explosive release of a sneeze which itself often comes with a side of discomfort. That lovely sensation… Continue reading This is YOUR life, live it well
Writing and M.E. 