Zgodba o epilesiji - Epileptic Brain Poem

Brain - Foto Reuters I wished for a brain tumor, I wished they would find something somewhere, that they’d dig in my brain, disembody (disembrain) them, touch something, I wanted a reason. You can fight with something concrete, you can be a rebel with a cause, you can inhale and fill your lungs, because you know why, you can… But an unknown origin (idiopathic or crypogenes epilepsy), tied wrists, a medical check-up, reaching beyond my face, parents that finally decide, that this illness does not exist, they wrap themselves in silence, being torn in myself, because the future, in a sneaky, but persistent way, is evading me. Lynch. Boulevard of Broken Dreams I sit under Kalvarija (Calvary), but the way above is only beginning. It is a good thing I don’t know it yet.

Potovanje v neznano Foto Reuters Hotela sem tumor, želela sem, da nekaj nekje najdejo, da se zakopljejo v možgane, jih raztelesijo (razmožganijo), da se dotaknejo nečesa, hotela sem razlog. S konkretnostjo se lahko boriš, si upornik z razlogom, lahko vdihneš in napolniš pljuča, ker veš čemu, lahko… A neznan izvor, (idiopatska ali kriptogena epilepsija) zvezana zapestja, zdravniški pogled, ki seže onkraj mojega obraza, starši, ki se dokončno odločijo, da bolezen ne eksistira, se zavijejo v molk, razbrazdanost v meni, ker se mi prihodnost potuhnjeno, a vztrajno izmika. Linč.  Boulevard of broken dreams Sedim pod Kalvarijo, a pot nanjo se šele pričenja. Še dobro, da tega ne vem.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading–treading–till it seemed That Sense was breaking through– And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum– Kept beating–beating–till I thought My Mind was going numb– And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then Space–began to toll, As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race Wrecked, solitary, here– And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down– And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing–then– (Emily Dickinson)

Existential chaos Restless, thumbs under brows. Castle above the city. Neurology department leans to psychiatry. An occasional scream and dimmed hallways of the department. On a wheelchair, a boy of my age. Screaming, shivering, rigid upper arm, saliva running down his chin, smell of urine. My father says, crisply: “You don’t have this!” I squeeze my fist and dig my nails in my palm. It hurts only in my head … So many questions, evasive answers. When, since when, where, how … Waiting for my first EEG. (Electroencephalography is measuring the electric activity of the brain, with electrodes on the surface of the head). I am only human

Eksistenčni kaos Brez miru, palci pod očesnimi oboki. Grad nad mestom. Nevrološki oddelek se naslanja na psihiatrijo. Občasen krik in zatemnjeni hodniki oddelka. Na invalidskem vozičku fant mojih let. Krči, drget, rigidne nadlakti, slina, ki se cedi po bradi, vonj po urinu. Moj oče odsekano reče: »Ti TEGA nimaš!« Stisnem pest in zakopljem nohte v svojo dlan. Boli samo v glavi... Veliko vprašanj, zmuzljivi odgovori. Kdaj, od kdaj, kje, kako,... Čakajoč na prvi EEG. ( Elektroencefalografija je merjenje možganske električne aktivnosti z elektrodami na površini glave) I am only human

Skull under the arm It was autumn, tired of the sun, it was winter, provokingly inviting to wear snowshoes, it was spring with rainbow emotions and it was the eight day … the eight day god created epilepsy. (epilepsi – convulsion, to torture, to grab … I am speaking of an (occasional) interruption in the functioning of the central nervous system, that is of a sudden and too intense activity of nervous cells, that is experienced by the patient as problems with conscience, motoric functions, behavior, sentience …) Loosing oneself, the only and final cake with turquoise frosting, handful of soil between fingers, nails on skin and there was the eight day … Smell of burned milk from a red pot with white dots, fear of stigma invokes in close-ones complaining and silence, the stove is dirty of insecurity and fear. The eight day my brain is pierced with the bitterness of a cup of coffee. Epi. The sound of silence Skull under the arm I hid my skull under m

Lobanja pod pazduho Bila je jesen, utrujena od sonca, bila je zima, ki je izzivalno vabila na krplje, bila je pomlad z mavričnimi čuti in bil je osmi dan...Osmi dan je bog ustvaril epilepsijo.  *(epilepsi – napad, mučiti. Gre za motnjo (občasno) v delovanju osrednjega živčevja oziroma za nenadno in/ali preveč intenzivno dejavnost živčnih celic, ki jo bolnik doživlja kot problematiko z zavestjo, motoriko, vedenjem, čutenjem,...) Izgubljanje, edina in poslednja torta s turkizno glazuro, prgišče zemlje med prsti, nohti na koži in bil je osmi dan...  Vonj po prežganem mleku iz rdeče posode z belimi pikami, strah pred stigmo sproži v bližnjih negodovanje in molk, "šporhet" je umazan od negotovosti in strahu.  Osmi dan mi prebode možgane grenkoba skodelice kave. Epi.  Sound of silence Lobanjo sem skrila pod pazduho.