It hurts

Since I can't take any sort of painkillers right now (self-restricted so I don't burn a hole in my stomach or get liver damage), I'm going to write out my pain.

It hurts. My body hurts. Specifically, my neck hurts. My shoulder hurts. My hands, the things that create beautiful things, hurt. So even though I want to knit, I have to will myself to pull it out and knit because it hurts. Pain is beauty, I guess. My legs hurt. My left knee hurts. I feel like a fat penguin when I walk because I...hurt.

How did I live through this pain before? Was it there all this time but I just walked right through it ignorant to what it meant? Maybe I lived through it because I thought it would be fixed one day. But it isn't going to be fixed. It will always be there...all the time...ever watching ever waiting ever in the back of my mind constantly nagging that I WILL HURT.

I'm in the this stage of acceptance where this is my special kind of hell. No one will understand it, I say to myself. No one will believe me, I say to myself. This is my pain. My burden to bear. My hell. Yes, again, my special kind of hell. Where walking to the bathroom is a chore. Where I will have to be numbed for the rest of my god damn life because I

hurt.

Hurt. Pain. Suffer. Needles. Fire. Over dramatic feelings of sorrow and fear and loneliness and

pain.

Did I mention I hurt?

Positive thinking is over rated. I want to hide in my sorrow that I will forever feel this pain. Especially on the days that used to fill me with so much happiness. Rain. Puddles. Laughter as I used to play around on the wet concrete, hoping that I will forever live in an area that had this type of weather. I wanted to live in a state that had this every day of the year. Now I have to rethink that because this weather only causes misery and

pain.

I am now a weather vane for all those that care. If you're worried that your wedding will be rained on, I can tell you that it will be coming. All it does is cause my body more

pain.

Don't worry. I'll warn you ahead of time.

These days are the worse because even if I'm carrying a bag it then starts to hurt. It starts to ache, and all I want to do is crawl up into a tiny little ball and try to find some sort of semblance of what it used to be without the

pain

and hope that eventually I will never feel this

pain


again. But I will. Because this will be my life. My. Life. Forever. There is no cure for this. At least it doesn't kill me, but then again at this very moment I want to put myself out of this special hell of mine to finally have a life without

pain.

But I won't. Don't worry. I have to find my faith again. It will come back to me. Maybe when it stops raining and the sun is out and I feel better again.

But now all I can think of is the fact that I

hurt. And I am mad that I hurt. I am so blindingly, agonizingly, dramatically enraged. Because all I want to do is relax and enjoy the beautiful sound of the rain against the window. Enjoy the cold in all its beautiful crispness.

But I can't.

Because I am in pain because of it.

This just affirms what I have always believed: my body hates me. My body and I have been in a constant battle with each other. I keep saying, "This is what I want" but my body continues to act on its own. My body and I are not in sync. It's like Peter Pan and his shadow: constantly at war to become sewed together.

This is just its way of being an asshole.

But that's just the pain talking.

Because I hurt.