Pain.
My latest Ode to Pain.
My ex thought I loved pain. He thought I enjoyed being in pain.
Trust me, this is not love I feel. This is not enjoyment.
Tell me: Would you love not being able to find a comfortable position to lie in on your own bed? Would you enjoy the sensation of your muscles being torn and twisted and knotted against your will?
Of course not. How stupid would that be? How stupid would anyone be for believing that?
Well, you might say, let's not be so hasty. Maybe he thought you loved the painkillers.
Maybe he did. Of course he would. He likes taking poisons into his body (large amounts of alcohol and cigar smoke) and he loves illicit behavior (sleeping around with another man's wife).
Not me, thank you. I like my liver to be spot-free, which it isn't thanks to the number of pills I've had to take most of my adult life. I'd love to be able to take a nap at the drop of a hat, which I can't, not even with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome--my body's in so much pain that I can't drop into deep sleep (the name of the condition is "Alpha EEG Disorder") without sleeping pills. I love taking a pill to offset the affects of my other pills (Prevacid, to allow me to take muscle relaxants and a daily regimen of heart-protecting aspirin without upsetting my stomach). Oh, yeah, and I'd love not to spend hundreds of dollars every month to keep myself alive; I can think of many happier things to do with that money.
But if you listen to him, you'd think I love to fight constipation every week or so. I love having no appetite on occasion due to drugs that upset my stomach. I love craving sweets at the height of every large dose of narcotics. Yeah, I really loved being almost 200 lbs. at the depths of my bout with hypercalcemia and spinal tumors. And I especially loved being rushed to the hospital with what felt like a heart attack but turned out to be esophageal erosion from heavy NSAID use. Wacky times, those were.
O.K., you might ask, then why would he say that in the first place?
Personally, I think he was jealous. He wanted to be the center of attention, specifically my attention. But, when I was sick and in horrible pain, I couldn't please him, pay attention to him, etc.
Now, I'm not 100% blameless. I didn't yet understand how to keep my emotions under control, like I do nowadays with the help of anti-anxiety meds, so I was not the nicest of persons when I was in extreme pain. I don't like being sick, and I loved my husband, and not knowing how to blend those two things made me very angry and difficult to live with.
Still, let's make one thing clear: I hate pain.
Let's make that two things: I have never and will never enjoy being in pain.
Hope that's clear now.
My ex thought I loved pain. He thought I enjoyed being in pain.
Trust me, this is not love I feel. This is not enjoyment.
Tell me: Would you love not being able to find a comfortable position to lie in on your own bed? Would you enjoy the sensation of your muscles being torn and twisted and knotted against your will?
Of course not. How stupid would that be? How stupid would anyone be for believing that?
Well, you might say, let's not be so hasty. Maybe he thought you loved the painkillers.
Maybe he did. Of course he would. He likes taking poisons into his body (large amounts of alcohol and cigar smoke) and he loves illicit behavior (sleeping around with another man's wife).
Not me, thank you. I like my liver to be spot-free, which it isn't thanks to the number of pills I've had to take most of my adult life. I'd love to be able to take a nap at the drop of a hat, which I can't, not even with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome--my body's in so much pain that I can't drop into deep sleep (the name of the condition is "Alpha EEG Disorder") without sleeping pills. I love taking a pill to offset the affects of my other pills (Prevacid, to allow me to take muscle relaxants and a daily regimen of heart-protecting aspirin without upsetting my stomach). Oh, yeah, and I'd love not to spend hundreds of dollars every month to keep myself alive; I can think of many happier things to do with that money.
But if you listen to him, you'd think I love to fight constipation every week or so. I love having no appetite on occasion due to drugs that upset my stomach. I love craving sweets at the height of every large dose of narcotics. Yeah, I really loved being almost 200 lbs. at the depths of my bout with hypercalcemia and spinal tumors. And I especially loved being rushed to the hospital with what felt like a heart attack but turned out to be esophageal erosion from heavy NSAID use. Wacky times, those were.
O.K., you might ask, then why would he say that in the first place?
Personally, I think he was jealous. He wanted to be the center of attention, specifically my attention. But, when I was sick and in horrible pain, I couldn't please him, pay attention to him, etc.
Now, I'm not 100% blameless. I didn't yet understand how to keep my emotions under control, like I do nowadays with the help of anti-anxiety meds, so I was not the nicest of persons when I was in extreme pain. I don't like being sick, and I loved my husband, and not knowing how to blend those two things made me very angry and difficult to live with.
Still, let's make one thing clear: I hate pain.
Let's make that two things: I have never and will never enjoy being in pain.
Hope that's clear now.