We are the thyroid zombies,

The walking dead,

The barely hanging on.

We hear our doctors tell us normal is between zero and forty-three,

But we are five-thousand and twenty three,

And will quickly be,

On a first name basis with our phlebotomist.

We take our pills in the day to keep us up,

And our pills at night to put us down,

And still yet other pills to fix the problems

The others pills brought on.

That person in the car next to you,

Taking that thirty second nap at a stop light,

Because he can't keep his lids open a minute longer,

He's one of us.

The girl in the cubicle next to you,

The one who is grumpy, unfriendly, and depressed one day,

And focused, angry, and driven the next.

She is one of us.

The guy in the store,

Who is stopped dead in the middle of the aisle for a full six minutes,

Searching through his brain for any clue of what he came for,

He is one of us.

The girl on the treadmill next to you at the gym,

Who just last week finished a triathlon,

But today can't make it through a twenty minute walk without pausing from weakness,

She, too, is one of us.

We are the thyroid zombies,

The walking dead,

The barely hanging on.

We fight our demons.

We swallow the radioactive pill that even the doctor won't touch with bare hands.

We drag our limp, tired bodies from their ill-used beds each morning.

We shower and get ready when every movement hurts to even think about.

We force a smile on our faces to hide the agony another day at work brings.

We workout every day when just sitting is a chore in hopes of getting back the fitness we once had.

We mourn for the days when we had a thyroid that hadn't revolted.

When metabolism was something we took for granted.

When the calories we ate were the only deciding factor,

In how much weight we put on or lost.

Now some mystical T4 number decides,

That all our hard work in watching our diet,

And exercising like crazy,

Should be rewarded with a bonus ten pounds,

To carry around on our already bloated and massive body.

We mourn the olden days when playing with the kids,

Was easy.

And that a simple walk with the family after dinner,

Was doable.

When completing a sentance without getting lost,

Happened.

When happiness was an emotion,

That could be felt.

We are the thyroid zombies,

The walking dead,

The barely hanging on.

One day we might,

Be better.

Be lighter.

Be smarter.

Be happy.

One day we might,

Have energy.

Have sleep.

Have strength.

Have spunk.

One day we might,

Not be sick.

But for now,

We are the thyroid zombies,

The walking dead,

The barely hanging on.

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