Dinner Is Ready

I got angry tonight.
Angry at the pain.
Angry at the nausea.
Angry over something simple.

I am angry at me for being angry.

I said to Steven and Wallene, "I am going outside. Please. Do not bother me."

Wallene just walked out onto the porch to announce that dinner was ready.

I looked at her and asked "I asked to be left alone. Correct?'"

Ugly, right?

The idea of eating right now makes me want to throw up.
Hang my head over the rail and heave all the bile that is in my stomach, because I know that is all that is left.

My anger makes me want to throw up.

I wanted to be left alone.

Then Steven walked out and kissed me and said "Dinner's ready."

Really?

Am I speaking Swahili to my family?

I asked to be left alone.
I knew I was going to break. 
LEAVE ME ALONE.  PLEEEEEEEAAAASSSSSE.
IT IS GOING DOWNHILL RIGHT NOW.

When is this going to end?

Can anyone tell me...

ANYONE tell me when this is going to end?

On the menu tonight [as my stomach churns typing this] is steamed shrimp, bacon cheddar potato skins, salad and potato salad. [We call it appetizer dinner - and made by Steven.]

Who wouldn't want to eat this?

Me.

I hate remission medication Sundays.

I try and it is just never good enough.

Sorry.

I spend the entirety of my days apologizing not being able to control my body.

I watch as my life spins out of control late in the day. 

And I can't grab it back.

I want me to come home.

Not a glimpse.
Not a hope.
Not for that one magic hour in the morning when I have finally had a good night's sleep. 

I want the whole of ME.

I want to stop talking about this.
I want to stop thinking I can cook dinner when I can't.
I want to stop thinking I can do more laundry than I should.
I want to forget that driving my car is going to cause me pain.

I want to stop asking my family to bend down to get something for me because I can't.

I want them to hear me.

I want someone to hear me.

Who am I?

I am weary of making excuses for what I think I can control. 
The things that I know look ugly to them.
The things that scare them.

I am so sorry for the pain in their eyes.

I am sick with the idea I can't accept that I shouldn't be doing these things.
With the knowledge that it isn't my fault.

But isn't it?

My fault?

Where did me go?