I have started to realized recently that I am really bad at talking about pain. (Even that sentence sucked.) When my family and friends ask how I am, I shrug and say, “fine” or “I’m doing okay”. I don’t talk about how shitty I really feel or how much guilty I have that I didn’t get anything done that day besides my self-cares, changing my underwear and washing my face. (Notice I didn’t mention brushing my teeth or taking a shower. Sometimes those things don’t happen. Logical or not, I feel guilty about that.)
Like today. When my best friend asked how my weekend was, I didn’t tell her that I felt really tired and had the most horrific headache the past two days. Instead, I just said my weekend was “good-ish”. Why did I say that? Why didn’t I tell M. what’s going on with me?
I guess part of me thinks talking about pain and illness is whining. We all know people who bitch and moan about their ailments to get other peoples’ attention and sympathy. I don’t want to be one of “those” people. It’s more than just a fear of being annoying, though.
I’m afraid to tell the truth about living with pain and illness. If I told M. the truth, that the fatigue and headache had taken over my entire weekend, that all I had the energy for was sitting in my recliner and using my iPad to read and such, I would have to say that out loud. I would have to acknowledge that another day out of my life was completely gone…. eaten up by fatigue and pain.
My cousin B. has this fantastic expression, “It is what it is.” The pain and fatigue are what they are. They are such overwhelming forces in my life that I don’t even try to fight them. But I don’t want to admit they are there, eating up precious minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and yes, years of my life that I will never get back.
And that’s as much as I can talk about pain tonight. I don’t want to spend another second thinking about misery. I’m going to go cuddle with my dog and read.