My Shingles And Me | Scripturally Speaking

I know you by now. You are the ordinarily pleasant sounds of life moving through the day, the common mistakes of a moment that everyone makes, but you are disguised as something terrible. You make me feel as though I need to cover my ears and seek shelter. You cause me to be nearly unable to withstand these usually comforting evidences of the living. Normal existence grates across the fabric of my being.

Next, you appear as screws puncturing and turning in one or another well chosen area of my inner space. Most often I feel you in my upper arms, my neck and shoulders, and my lower back. You show up violently as though you are outraged at having been suppressed. You immediately explode and your ranting is somewhat paralyzing.

Finally, there is debris scattered sparingly across my shoulders, around my collar bone, occasionally along my spine. Your signature in little blistery pop-ups that itch momentarily; that I unwittingly run my nails across in response to your demands, that become crusty, scab-over and pass away as mysteriously as they arrived. Your clarifying claim of responsibility for the terrorist act.

Treacherous enemy that you are- you require absolute surrender to ease the pain. We are, therefore, at odds. Though I ache, though I am near exhausted, I will move, I will recover, and I will live.