Living with the Pain...

It has been one of those weeks. The ones when pain treads with heavy steps, the uninvited guest, trespassing upon my hospitality. So, in an effort to recover sleep and banish the pain (hey, why not?), I thought I would do a freewrite on pain and how it affects me:

UNSEEMLY LANGUAGE WORKED ITS WAY INTO THIS FREEWRITE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

This freewrite has not been edited/revised/proofread. Please excuse any errors.

It comes, entering the door softly. No invitation, formally or informally. It burns, lava flowing silently and red, tumbling over itself as it rolls, unimpeded, seeking the relief of the sea. Nothing remains in its wake but raw destruction, all annihilated. It has a pulse, this pain. It has my rhythm as it hides under the skin, in deepest marrow, in synovial fluid between joints, in layers of muscle cell-deep. It's deep--in nucleus of cell, DNA sent spinningm double helixes melting one into the other, twisting and tangling until all is knotted, all is fucked up. It creeps, quiet and strong, pulsating and annihilating all in its path. Neural pathways collapse, bending in on themselves, clasping pale hands over bursting vessels. It carries that scent, undetectable by the healthy but so familiar a bedfellow to the victims.

But are we victims of this vague ghost, ephemeral yet piercing to the very marrow, the heart stuttering, the lungs gasping? Being a victim sucks. It's not Who I want to be. It's not ME.

Is it who I have become?

I want to fight it. To fold my fist into power and strike with every iota of strength I possess, aiming for sweet spot and knocking it unconscious, even as blood drip-drops from knuckles bursting through fragile skin. But I got my hit in, with bottle rattling with oblong white pills, powdery and bitter. Eight of them, four in morning, four at night, taken with food. My first line of defense, my only offsense. It weakens me, drowning me, holding me beneath surface until lungs burn and burst, ears filling with fluid, muffling silent screams. Eyes fill, overflow, wetness trickling, trickling, trickling, one after the other, taking same path burrowed into drawn skin.

The moments tick by, kept by clocks, phones, silent passing of seconds and minutes, hours and days. It is always there, ever present, never taking a break, a long weekend, a short vacation. It is relentless, a hunter stalking its prey, bow drawn taut, arrow sighted perfectly. The hunter releases, arrow streaming through thin air, separating molecules with pointed insistence until it meets its mark. The heart is pierced, blood flowing black and thick as eyes glaze over. One last shudder of life before eternity descends, no escape possible.

That is what living with pain is like.

Thanks for experiencing this journey with me.

Living, surviving, (flourishing?) with the pain,