Sitting here, just sitting here, is absolutely painful. My bones are crushing in on themselves. My muscles are contracting at a minuscule level all over in micromovements that burn into every fiber. My nerves burn with hellfire.
Chronic pain is a fucking bitch.
I have good days. I have bad days. I have days that I sleep the entire 24 hours away because I can’t bring myself to move from my pillow. Nothing in my childhood could have prepared me for the physical pain that my adulthood has contained. No one caused this. No one is making this happen. But it’s here and it’s loud and it’s debilitating. What I wouldn’t give to have a day where my pain level is zero. A day of normalcy. A day of being a human with normal aches and pains even, where it’s not even to a point that it affects my regular existence.
Even typing, holding my arms to my keyboard, moving my joints in my fingers and wrists is like running a fucking marathon. I want so badly to be functional.
What’s worse? I refuse to start narcotics at age 35. I’m too young to start taking pain medications that will debilitate me even more. My insomnia, my hypersomnia, my permanently exhausted pigeon that runs my brain is obviously not going to appreciate being strung out anymore. I could handle it in my late teens and early twenties but mid- to late 30’s pigeon is not going to do well. I don’t qualify for supplemental income or disability so that’s not even an option. I have to be able to work.
I can’t think about what heavier medication would do to my mindset and what my body would do in reaction to all of it. I’d shut down. I’d be stuck in bed. I’d be absolutely bedridden.
I’m trying to live my life, and this invisible monster is here sitting on my chest, crushing my bones, tensing my muscles, lighting my nerves on fire like a demonic little pyromaniac.
Please little pigeon, just chill out and let me sit here and finish my shift in peace.
Ridi
Traumatized Viridimere 