I did not ask, and thought, I do not want it. I did not ask this and trust me. Even when you attempt and hide it, I understand you will roll your eyes. I understand that you believe I’m overwhelmed or dramatic. But I wouldn’t wish that for anybody.
You used to see my work and cook, clean and walk with your colleagues, shopping and even out. I don’t complain many times because I would have nothing else to tell if I complained every time I was in pain. I just understand that if I complain, it really has to be serious.
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The reality, however, is that I live a double life. With a smile on my face, I do all these kinds of stuff, because I have no option. Wallowing through the bed and watching life pass me by would be the only alternative. You see me taking my pain meds and wondering whether I’m addicted to them. I’m taking my pain meds and wondering how they will work if I’m taken. I’m not getting high, I’m getting normal. When you’re cold, I bring these medicines to feel as well as you think. That’s why I can function, cook and do everything else I see every day.
The truth is, I’m so sick of the pain that I weep if you don’t look at it. I wake up in pain while you sleep in the night. When you ask me to do physically intimidating things while you are not even thinking about it, I tighten my teeth. I don’t notice 100 stuff a day because I conceal it. I hide my tiredness, hide my fault and frustration. I hide my pain.
The reality is that I’m looking at you and wondering how it feels–how I can do all this stuff without pain or weariness. I want to break down sometimes and yell and cry. I get so upset sometimes that all around me I want to punch. Sometimes I ask myself if I can continue to do so.
The part worse than the pain, however? You probably don’t trust me knowing. You just won’t know, no matter how much I attempt to say you. So, I keep this for myself and I’m still alone with my pain, even when I’m surrounded by individuals.
I am not helpless. So, I don’t want you to feel bad about me. I don’t want you. Special treatment, I don’t want. Everything I want is empathy. When I can’t do anything, don’t get angry at me. If I can’t go anywhere, don’t get frustrated. When I take my meds, don’t judge me. Don’t judge me. When I sleep more frequently (particularly because I haven’t slept the last four nights), I don’t believe I am lazy. Please don’t just render me guilty of the disease.
Even though you don’t, just say, “I know.” Love from A girl with chronic pain
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