Well, I put my feelings about stroke in writing back when my aphasia was anomic (and I could speak some)...and now that I can't (all things still apply):
You Look Okay
You look okay, the people said
too bad they can't see inside my head,
too bad they can't feel the pain
and the hurt inside,
too bad they don't know what it's like
to have almost died.
They can't see pain forever constant
in my limbs and in my head,
they don't know how sad it is
to have a piece of you that's dead.
They don't notice when I don't understand
because I smile and nod my head,
Just don't ask me to repeat it
now what was it you said.
They can't see the tingling and burning
or the buzzing in my feet,
but aren't I glad I look okay
to the people that I meet.
Would they like to laugh when things aren't funny
or cry when they aren't sad,
Or ride an emotional roller-coaster
of utter frustration and getting mad.
That tasks to them that are simple
are to complex for my damaged brain,
Oh, how I wish they could see inside
why my tears fall down like rain.
My son says Mom you're no longer fun,
my husband says What's wrong with you,
but like the others who cannot see inside
I'm afraid they don't have a clue.
In a society that's based on appearance
it's not how you feel, it's how you look
they think since they've scanned the cover
they know what's inside the book.
You look okay...the people said,
too bad they can't see inside my head.
