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Thirst
Anonymous
Poetry

Why didn’t you tell anyone how sick you were?
How at night you stumbled
Mouth like a desert to the bathroom
Neck aching from arching to the tap?
A rude, unquenchable thirst
From waking to sleeping
In bed you felt your bones
They seemed to grow
Why could no one else know?

How did you hide the poison that was eating you?
All the time, thinner and thinner
Androgynous
Until numb toes, sore throat, sore back
Assaulted you in private
And you cried
But only on the inside.

Heavy, insidious fatigue
Like a curtain in the classroom
Eyes closed concealed the secret
Not showing the fear
Not wanting to admit
And all the time wishing it wasn’t true
Praying for it not to be you.

I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes three weeks before my GCSEs, but have never admitted that I knew I had had it for at least nine months before then. I had all the classical symptoms, and so I don’t really know how I managed to carry on for so long, but I gradually found ways of explaining the obvious ones like weight loss and excessive water consumption and hiding the others. I am a rational person, and yet I denied myself vital medical help because I was too scared to admit I was very ill; I knew the result of a urine test would be unequivocal, but said to my GP that I didn’t think it was worth my doing one. What I most remember from that time, was the feeling of having an awful secret that once let out would mean my life changed for ever, and I couldn’t deal with that. I find it hard to understand how I subjected my body to such harm, it seems like I am writing about someone else when I recall that time, which is why “Thirst” is in the second person.

Whole Person Care