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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
They say it all makes sense now.
All these medical oddities I've experienced at such a young age.
My doctor insists that things have to make sense.
He says it's his job, to find the reason.
I baffle him with my hair loss and insomnia.
My anxiety and depression.
My dermatillomania and body pain.
He says I don't make sense.
I can't help but agree.
Lately body aches have become a part of my everyday life.
I've forgotten what living feels like without aching somewhere.
Constant fatigue and nerve tingling also decided to crash the party.
I used to say that it felt like my mind was fighting against me.
Loneliness, anxiety and lack of sleep made functioning hard.
I wondered what I did to deserve this hell that no one else could see.
My own private cell.
This was the year that my hair started to fall out in patches.
I added it to the list of maladies.
I've come to discover that my suffering makes others uncomfortable.
My friends avoid the bags under my eyes and the ice packs placed over my body.
The winces of pain seems to force them to avert their eyes.
They don't know how to respond to so much medical issues bound into one body.
Especially a body so young.
The most discomfort they've experienced is in their young lives is a few stray injuries, all bound to a fun experience.
I sometimes wish I could have such shallow knowledge in the ways of pain as them.
I don't blame them for their awkwardness around me.
We talked to others.
Many people think I have either fibromyalgia or lupus.
Every symptom I have is an exact copy of those filed under fibromyalgia.
Except for the hair loss.
That would just be another fun quirk I get to have.
My doctor is happy.
He says things finally have aligned themselves.
It's a puzzle to him, nothing more.
Once I get diagnosed in April he will have solved it.
I've become more depressed.
If it truly is fibromyalgia, I will have this for the rest of my life.
Constant pain and malaise are not placed on my agenda.
My mom says I need to adapt and keep moving.
Few have taken into account my worries.
What will life be like for me?
A 15 year old who suffers from chronic pain and lives life with her ice packs and anxiety in tow.
How will I perform my beloved sports, when I can barely drag myself out of bed each morning?
My future is directed by fear of the unknown.
I don't quite know what to do with myself anymore.
All of the art I love creating causes me unbearable pain.
I hope I'll be okay, one day.
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2016
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
I went to the dentist today.
The lady who cleaned my teeth had hair fit for a Weasley with large piercing eyes to compliment. Her name is Sierra, and she is 22 years old.
She asked me if anything had medically changed since the last time I had came.
I told her about my chronic pain and alopecia.
"Is that all?", she innocently questioned. I told her about my anxiety and insomnia.
"What's that sore on your chest?", she probed. I told her about my dermatillomania.
She nodded and got out her tools.
Here, is where I thought the conversation would end.
I'm so thankful I was wrong.
She looked at me with her large eyes and told me that she too has anxiety.
She said she has PTSD from some family issues a couple years back.
She knows what it's like, how it feels.
She sat behind me and asked me how I was coping.
I thought she meant with my mental disorders and informed her I was ok.
The only answer I can semi truthfully give these days.
She asked me if I was sure.
Told me I have sad eyes.
Asked if all of it together was overwhelming.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Yes, it is. It always is.
The only word that managed to escape was yes.
She said that only people who have it can see it in other people.
I have it, I know what she meant.
She recommended certain Melaluca oils to help.
Recommended melatonin for the insomnia.
Said I should text her, call her, Facebook her.
Heck, even make an appointment just for the sake of talking.
She'd go on break and we'd go outside just so I could vent.
Shared with me an inspiring image she loved.
It is a picture of Jesus, smiling, holding his hand out to Peter after he's fallen beneath the waves.
How even though we fall beneath the waves, Jesus isn't disappointed or mad with us.
She said he'll always be there for us.
She said that she knows it's overwhelming, and hard.
But keep your head up above the waves.
She recommended I read a novel titled, "Redeeming Love".
She said it helped her immensely.
Somewhere in here she mentioned I have striking features, and pull off bald better than most.
So much love and compassion radiated from her very words.
I've forgotten what that kind of love feels like.
People who spread compassion and understanding like flower petals give me hope.
Thank you, Sierra.
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2016
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
She looks into the mirror, and sees what she is.
A beautiful, bubbly little girl.
Heart opened to the world, trusting everyone who inhabits it.
The corners of her mouth turned upward, her cheeks tinted pink.
She looks at her mirror image and laughs, sticking out her tongue and scrunching up her face.
She goes to bed.
She looks into the mirror, and sees what she is.
A brilliant, creative young girl.
Her face is laced with imperfections, but her mom told her no one is perfect.
Her smile is crooked, her eyebrows are hard to see, and her face is covered in little red demons.
She looks at her mirror image and smiles anyway, not caring about her appearance.
She goes to bed.
She looks into the mirror, and sees what she is told.
An unattractive, bland girl.
Her face has countless flaws, but everyone else looks perfect.
Her smile is crooked, her face is chubby, her acne has taken over, and her eyebrows aren't slim.
She looks at her mirror image with a ghost of a smile, doubt showing through her eyes.
She pushes them away and she goes to bed.
She looks in the mirror, and sees what she thinks is there.
A fat, ugly teen girl.
Body littered with the unattractiveness that defines her existence.
Her heart's shield has come up, preventing the hurt she knows will come.
She looks at her mirror image, mouth pinched in disgust.
Hugging her pillow tightly, she goes to bed.
She looks in the mirror, and sees what she's certain is there.
An unloved husk of a human being.
Her mind now resembles her body, scarred from her own criticism.
Her heart is cracked, her soul broken, her mind tired.
She looks at her mirror image with a huge smile on her face, knowing it will be her last.
She lets go of her life and for the first time in a long time,
She happily goes to bed.
I recently found this poem that I had written. I had written it when I was 13 years old...
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2015
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
People say my anxiety is cute.
The way I wring my hands, stutter over my words, jump at loud noises, and blush easily.
The way I wring my hands, because if they weren't holding each other they'd be shaking, or even sub-consciously digging into my skin on a bad day.
The way I stutter over my words, and stutter myself into a panic attack because I have no idea what the person on the opposite end thinks of me.
The way I jump at loud noises, instantaneously filling with anxiety and the unshakable need to hide, survive.
The way I blush easily, the redness of my cheeks signifying the onslaught of tears that wish to come, but never are allowed.
How anxiety has overcome me to the point that even my own shame at my weakness can not coerce me into coming out.
The way I'm so afraid of living.
...Adorable.
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2016
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
It's exhausting, this fight to be strong.
To wake up from a blissful sleep, only to be hit with the harsh reality that is life.
To have the dried blood of the night caked under my fingernails.
The smell of iron seems to swell in my room, a constant reminder.
The sores litter my body, and the disappointment I experience is incomparable to any other.
Dermatillomania is a clever abuser.
The only person to blame is me and my hands, their inability to leave me alone.
The crime against me is my own, why would anyone sympathize?
The psychological pain is equal to the physical pain, both swirling into this big mixing pot of hell.
The general consensus of disgust over my disorder stings, more than I'd ever care to admit if it were not done lyrically.
Frustration, pain, and shame are all familiar to us dermatilomaniacs.
Such a misunderstood disorder makes the coping even harder.
Yet I still survive, because it's not just my scar tissue that's tough.
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2016
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
You may think that Alopecia is a very simple disorder.
Your hair falls out, you buy a wig, you're good.
Wrong, in every use of the word.
Going bald means struggling to find yourself beautiful.
It means wanting to look at yourself in the mirror instead of avoiding one.
It means being able to run your hand across your head without cringing.
It means going out in public with a smile as a replacement for a wig.
Having Alopecia forces you to choose between being strong or being weak.
No matter what you choose, you are forced to come out strong in the end.
How can you not be?
When the children run away from you and refuse to touch you because you might infect them.
When the ignorant girl with the long blond hair takes pictures of you, making sure you catch the disgust that fills her expression like rotten milk.
When passerby stare and point at you shamelessly.
When the first thing that people will forever notice about you is your lack of hair.
When you have to force yourself to smile; ignore the people that refuse to stop staring at you.
When your eyelashes fall out, and you have to pick yourself up because you're the only one who cares enough to do so.
When your hair falls out and your friend tells you to get over it, expecting sympathy the next day when she comes to you in tears over her bad haircut.
When people remind you that nobody wants a bald girlfriend.
When people tell you you're beautiful even though you're bald, and you wonder why you can't be beautiful and bald at the same time?
When you wear a wig out in public, and people are surprised that you can be pretty.
When the children that you love can't be forced by their parents to smile at you.
Having Alopecia forces you to choose between being strong or being weak.
The countless hurdles you must jump to feel beautiful and loved ensure that you become strong.
Alopecia cannot be classified as simple, no matter the medical process.
The physiological pain that one with Alopecia must endure is trying and often times confusing.
From the children to the elderly, all those who have Alopecia, I congratulate you.
You are all strong and underestimated human beings.
Bald is Beautiful.
*Had to rant somewhere, I'll make it better later*
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2015
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
They cover my scars with roses, and tell me it will be all right.
As if some pretty petals will help me last the night.
They give me medication, smile, and whisper, "Hang in there."
As if it's all normal, as my suffering is fair.
They pat my head and tell me I'm too young to be in pain.
As if age matters to the clouds that decide to unleash their rain.
They lock me up in their "normal" box, and have the nerve to tell me to be grateful.
As if the constricting walls I've been put in could make me anything but hateful.
They bow their heads, tears stream from their eyes, insist they didn't see the signs.
As if the scars weren't evidence enough, of how I wanted to escape my confines.
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2015
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
It's been getting worse
I see the end in the most innocent of items
I dream of death
Death of my family, friends
Ironically never of myself
The hollow inside my chest isn't leaving
self hatred comes easily
unhealthy coping habits are becoming harder to hide
I don't care enough to try and replace them
I don't care enough to ask for help
I don't care enough to reach out
I don't care
I know I should feel worried or concerned, perhaps even scared of these thoughts
but all I feel is tired
and I know as the night ends, and the sun rises, and those I love are surrounding me -
reminding me why I can't leave why I won't leave no matter how I want to
I will be better. I will smile. I will breathe
The hollow will be bandaged, forgotten, pushed to the sidelines
but the ache is making itself known more often and more violently and I find myself having to work harder having to think and think and think about those I will hurt if I act on these thoughts and I have to remind myself over and over and over again that it is worth it people care people love you this will hurt them you can't hurt them you're too young there is more time more years more ways for this to get better it won't always be like this it can't be it won't be-
and I wonder what is wrong with me. does everyone have to think these thoughts to keep living? is living this hard for everybody? do other people do this to themselves?
can everybody else feel self hatred rattling in their bones?
I'd ask...
I would.
But I have so many meaningless things I need to get done
and I don't have time to get help
I don't have time to learn how to love myself
there's not
enough
time
or is there too much time?
wasn't that the problem?
Too many days, too many years of living like this
How many ways, all the methods running through my head, which I would chose what would be easiest on my family
Do you have suicidal thoughts?
no
Do you have a plan?
no
I never fancied myself a liar
I tell myself I'll get better, so there's no need to tell anyone
No need to worry anyone over things that will soon disappear
These problems that will cease to be
They'll look at you differently
.
and god we can't have that
.
I know I'll be better, I'll smile, I'll breathe
but these thoughts are like weeds, and I can never seem to pull out the roots
and all of this should worry me-
-I know it would worry any sane person I tell this to
but all I feel is tired
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2017
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
I look at the world through dark-tinted glasses these days.
My eyes seek out the dreary and lost,
My shaking words ghosting comfort over the broken and betrayed.
I can't be blamed for the lonely way I gaze at life.
At such a young age, my life has been filled with too many misunderstood tragedies.
My body is a pastel painting of the battles I've fought.
My soul is an open diary of the hits this wary vessel has suffered; easily read if one would only care enough to try.
When obstacle after obstacle slam into us like waves, it is only natural to lose hope.
I've been told that hope is nothing more than a cruel red herring.
Designed to ease us into the comforting embrace of failure.
I kindly disagree.
Without hope, I would've surrendered my life to the demons that claw at my insides long ago.
Hope is the only reason I can proudly say I'm still standing.
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2016
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Hailey Coraggioso Poem
I hate it when people get excited about my recovery.
My life isn't a line on a graph; when I'm better I won't stay there.
My life is a circle, and my recovery is temporary.
Relapse is imminent.
I won't stay well for long.
When my friends congratulate me on the re-growth of my hair or the healing of my skin, I want to cry for them, because my happiness gives them false hope.
My success only tricks them into believing I'm healed; I'm getting better.
It blinds them from the inevitable downfall that I will face.
So when I become unwell, waves of guilt overwhelm me.
I know my suffering is a disappointment to them.
My heart aches for those who refuse to accept the unending pain that I must endure.
My life is a circle, and my recovery is temporary.
Although relapse is imminent, I find hope in the logic that my pain must be temporary, too.
Copyright © Hailey Coraggioso | Year Posted 2015
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