Pain. We have so many ways to describe pain and it still isn’t enough! But NOW I am not describing the pain, but what the pain turns me into: becoming that which I hate. Pain is a virus, it is a beast inside snapping, a backpack full of pointy weights I can never put down. I wake to it, I sleep to it. I don’t even know that I am moaning, because pain has invaded my brain and decided to play with my vocal cords. Pain is a manipulative bitch.
What is most horrific, is that even when I know pain is turning me from the nice, loving person I really am to the horrid, snapping, weird outburst, and desire to throw and break things shrew, I can’t stop it. Pain turns me, the great extrovert into the cranky, obsessive introvert.
I feel it as pain creeps, muscle by muscle, joint by joint, clouding my mind. And each the minutes tick on, pain creates its own time, a bubble of pain-time I am trapped in. Everyone else, everyone outside pain-time is going too fast, asking questions too quickly, wanting too much. Assume too much. They assume I can multitask what THEY want me to multitask. But I already AM multitasking, I am listening to 14 different nerve rasping tunes while on hold by my own private “your pain complaints department.” I am getting all that AND I am trying to listen to you, but you talk so fast and you want me to remember things and where they are and now you are heading out and am I ready? SNAP! There I go, screaming that no I am not ready because I can’t get my damn bra on, and if YOUR shoulder and YOUR arm felt like mine and quite honestly I would rather they fall off than try this damn bra again blah, blah…. I realize in a sort of horror mid-sentence what I sound like (which doesn’t stop the rant as I sort of float in slow motion time thinking, “I sound like a mad woman?”).
Pain makes you notice things about the people you love, things that went for years without being noticed, like how that MOLE they have on their cheek just STARES at you no matter where they go in the room. And you know that you are crazy. That this isn’t YOU, this person who is starting to simmer with the irritation because a person you love, that you honestly LIKE (on most days), has a mole that you feel is staring at you. Because that is the pain virus which is pounding itself right into your thoughts, making mush out of your sentences, having you start them and then stare into space. Or worse yet, do that to other people, stare at them and then keep saying “What were you saying…?” Finally THEY get mad and then, oh MY GOD they had no idea when they started to complain how you were just waiting for them to break the seal on all the pain rage leashed up in you. And didn’t they GET that you were trying to protect THEM from the pain-insane thinking built up in you as you pretended to be human (for THEM) instead of a pain virus infect viscous she-demon (which now you are, in full flow!).
Pain makes you tired, fatigued, where you wonder midway writing a sentence what your plan was to finish it? You trudge on in your mind like galoshes through treacle trying to get out what someone might think is your side to a conversation or writing an email so that you might get an email instead of being cut off alone in your pain. Of course, since pain reduces your attention span to that where a five year old is complaining that you are too distractible and won’t read the story; when it arrives, you likely can’t read that email. Let’s just scan a bit and see if it is nice, it looks nice, I will try to read it later.
Pain affects how you make decisions, what you think about things. For example, when your Sweet Love is being kind and says, “let’s go out to eat, that will be fun.” What do I think? I think “If I have to get dressed that is 284 separate pain inducing movements, much less getting into the car, getting out of the car, and then using utensils (will the restaurant let me flop my head face down into the food, that would be SO nice, so much less PAINFUL!)….” So in the end, NO, NO, that actually doesn’t sound very fun at all. And SNAP, out comes some statement, which may or may not be coherent, which you see hit the kind, open, and expectant face of your Sweet Love like bitch slapping a kitten. It is wrong. It is bad and yet, you can’t stop saying it!
I am writing this post maniacally in a state of extreme pain: every finger I use is making me make little yelps of pain (because oh the shoulders and spine and ahhh!). Earlier my home care thought from another room that the noises from my writing a postcard was an indication I had lost capacity of speech and was trying to communicate. No, NO, that was just the number of moans, groans, grunts and weird guttural sounds no girl should ever make that moving my shoulder and elbow produces. That’s sort of funny I think, or would be, maybe, if I could think straight. I remember a kid in seventh grade who used to pound his head against his desk. The teacher asked him “WHY?” He said, “Because when you stop, it feels really good!” I used to think he was a bit “not all there.” Now, this second, with the overwhelming feeling that I should pound my face into the keyboard again and again because maybe all the OTHER pain from all my body parts would go away for a bit, he sounds like an genius.
God, I’m still thinking about it, can’t stop thinking about it. Will that work, if I pound my head and then stop; would all the pain go away for a second? It almost sounds worth trying.
See, that’s what I mean, would any rational person write those last few sentences? No! But the virus of pain is in my brain and a few minutes ago I was chasing my opiate pill across the floor with my fumble fingers after dropping it. I could care less about germs or the “three second rule.” That’s my PAIN Pill down there! I was getting that pill if I had to fall out of the chair next to it and lick it off the rug.
This post has turned into a public service announcement: “This is a brain……this is a brain on pain. (Take warning!)”
Tell me you know what I am talking about....please!
3 hours ago