I am more than a little confused. My mind is in turmoil: Twisted, torn and terrified, Troubled by all that surrounds me I walk from room to room, Aimlessly pacing, wearing the carpet with my going nowhere steps As I wander as one possessed My body is vile, an embarrassment, Not conforming to what is normal. It appears to be so right: then, Look! What’s happening? Did you see that? To be relaxed, to look as others look Is demanding. No! Impossible! Tasks, which to others are reflexive, For me are deliberate, yet I fail. Being still, even for a minute, is a feat. I force my muscles to relax Daring them to relax, defying them to flinch But I have no control, I am not master. To write is climbing Everest, To control my hand, impossible. I do not want to be with people Nor bring myself to seek out company. Words tangle, unwilling to leave The safe haven of my mouth. Speech is stunted, confused, incoherent. There is no place for me - so I hide: alone!
Parkinson’s was worsening at a high rate of knots: I felt I had lost my equilibrium and was floundering helplesspeoplessly Val Bowden