There's a whole textbook definition for pain. Yet, the amazing thing is that pain is what the person tells you it is. It's subjective. This time, mine isn't the abstract kind of pain, it's the physical one. I can clearly see what's causing the gut-wrenching screams of ache.
My feet is killing me, and my abdomen feels like a knife is being twist in and shoved deeper. My head is ringing and when I place my hands over it, I just want to yank it off, while closely considering the option to slit my wrists to relieve the pain that shoots through my arms. Everywhere is so cold and I can feel the life leaving me.
When it sets in (some five minutes every goddamn hour), the pain has a way of messing with everything I think I can normally handle just fine. So many chemical pathways; some poorly understood and others well outlined. The basis of all these is simple: pain eats me up.
It makes me forget who I am and what matters to me. I need it to stop so bad, and as I try to not blow my reaction out of proportion, I put up a kind face, but it hits back hard and I can't take it any more. It's easy then to become a jerk. I can't take more than eight pills in a day, but I've had twelve pills for today, even if it's not yet three PM.
This is when the yelling starts. Yelling is the easy part; it beats keeping my tone in check and holding it in, so I offend people without meaning to. I can't apologize because then I'd have to explain and that would cause me some great discomfort. The winning card? The pain never goes away in moments like these.
They should understand me, I tell myself. Yet, when they can't, I have to hate them. And what is it about hate? I always wind up feeling worse than the initial trigger, bile rises up my throat and I forget when it began, or where it hurts at the moment. No one loves me. I've forgotten what it feels like to be "fine",
A full blown jerk I have become.
- A bad day in the life of JD, a chronic sickle cell patient with menstrual cramps.
'Siyah
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