Thump thump thump thump thump
The sweat dripped down my flushed red face but I was too tired to care anymore. Normally the sticky sweat bothered me enough to stop my work out. Not this time. This time I was going to make it. Faster. Faster. Faster.
Thump thump thump
I looked down at the timer - normally something I try not to do because it seems to steal my breath and energy. One minute left. I upped the speed and flew but I watched the timer count down the numbers to zero because I wanted to stare my foe in the face. I wanted to stick my middle fingers so high and curse at the machine that had trained me and pushed me. I wanted this day to be a celebration! I had worked hard to be able to do it and today was the day. Fuck you treadmill. I thought for today is the day, you get conquered. I'd made it. 6 miles in one hour. That was the goal I made for myself and I had done it.
I did it!
When I stepped off the treadmill, my legs continued to wobble and the sweat blinded and stung my eyes but nothing, nothing was able to ruin my high. My legs were sore and my hips hurt bad but I attributed it to the run. I did a simple stretch and with a smile on my face, walked out of the gym. I could do anything... And then I could not. I didn't know it then, but I had badly damaged my hip while running. I can no longer even walk long distances without it bothering me. I can't use it anymore the way I'd like and that freedom to conquer the world went with it.
Fast forward a year. I'd been taking care of a woman who was miserable and bitter. I didn't much like her either and sort of resented her- through no fault of her own- because my friend had died and the old bitter woman was very quickly placed into the open room.
She didn't want anyone to help her- she was bitter and mean and resigned to die. I wasn't interested in arguing with her but helped her when she needed it (although in her mind, I'm sure she didn't need help).She had a tricky transfer process that was guaranteed by physical therapy which I innately just trusted. This woman did not comply at the time of my transfer with her and immediately, I felt the pull, push and Pop in my lower back. Damnit. Dammit dammit dammit. You know your body. I knew I'd messed something up.
Not everyone can recall the moment in their life when something changed and allowed chronic pain to enter the picture. This is what I want to- need to get off my chest.. if only for the sake of my heart and heavy honesty I carry... Today was a bad day and writing is a relief to my soul when it wears heavy in my chest.
I can't remember a time when walking without pain was a reality. I can't remember being able to walk around my house without my shoes off. I can't remember a time when I didn't second guess plans because of my body. Pain. Chronic pain. It becomes you.
Living with pain everyday is like hearing low static or electricity crackling in the background of your life. Sometimes it's so low you can barely hear it and other times it is so loud that it's all you can focus on.
On the good days, I feel like I could reach out and grab my freedom again. I hopefully think maybe things are getting better. Maybe all my uttered curses in between prayers had finally paid off. Maybe I could be so lucky. But I stop the thoughts, too scared to think them in case they be true - surely, I could never be so lucky. I stop the thoughts because I know they never could be true.
In the midst of a bad day of pain, I find myself begging my body to work with me. Tears stream down my face as I try to maneuver my back into some semblance of normal. I cry and bend hoping it will help- for I have nothing left to try. I fight to give into the pain - telling myself it's just a bad day but on the other side of my shoulder, I beg for the sweet release of death and nothingness. I claw and I cast my arms around me blindly looking for something ANYTHING to ease the fire running through my legs, wrapping around my hip sockets, trailing fire and electric current up my lower back. I beg and beg anyone listening in the universe to hear me and if not heal me to ease my distress. My silent cries the only thing I hear in return.Sometimes the pain is so bad I cease to function, not wanting to move, or hope, or cry.
I feel mad and frustrated in a God who would knowingly let his child feel these things and turn his face from me. To know that I have prayed the same prayer in many forms and shades only to know it is a wasted breath. To lose faith and pick it back up only because it is the only thing to hold onto if only to change the prayer to a pleading for an end. It's enough to think to never plead again, because surely if God was going to take away my pain, he'd have done it by now. This is my burden and mine alone.
The tears well in my eyes and I am frustrated that my pain causes them more often than not. I am frustrated and so woebegone in the middle of these pain bursts that I can't see an end. I live directly in the hot electric intensity that lives in my body. It haunts me, taunts me, scares me and makes me feel alone. I second guess my life and my job, my goals and my future. Bad days of pain have the ability to strip me of my strength until I am left feeling the harsh, bitter taste of reality. I despair.
It isn't something to go around talking about either. Pain is relative to the person who is feeling it so of course while people can sympathize- what course will change by talking about it to someone who could do nothing? And so my pain and I- we learn to walk hand in hand - stretching the boundaries of what I can overcome and how I can feel.
On a good day though- when the buzzing is slight- I feel as though I could jump on clouds. I find myself running down the stairs, jumping over the last one and landing on the bottom just because it makes me smile. I find myself reaching a little higher and grabbing my freedom back. On the good days, I never cry or worry about what my plans will make. I live for the good days and most of the time, if I do everything right, I have more good days than bad. The good days teach me to live full because I never know when the pain will come creeping back or what form and intensity it will appear.
I have often felt judgement towards others to their standards of pain. I have often wondered why they would give up and just take the pills and create a sedentary life half lived. However, as I find myself grasping for those things on my bad days- I also find myself becoming excessively sympathetic to those who do because I have only fought my fight for a few years and my pain comes and goes in intensity. To be stuck in my body while racked with pain everywhere, would be hell. I understand their hell a little bit better and I am so so sorry I was so callous and so so sorry they have to feel their pain.
I am sharing these sensitive things not because I want your sympathy. If I'd wanted that you would have known about it already. No, no, I am just reminded through my experience that I will never know what kind of battle others are facing. You will never know how my pain challenges me. I will never understand the depth of yours - but God knows, I will try.. For now though, I will make it through the day with a small amount of tears shed, half a pain pill at the end of the day and the ease of soul that writing gives me.
--Beloved.
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