When do We Tell? When do We Act Like Nothing is Wrong?

Hello, readers. Remarkably, I have actually had a very easy time with my chronic pain lately, with little pain for a couple of weeks, and other people have been noticing a change in me, even though they don't quite realize that the change they have been seeing is because of a lack of pain. For instance, other people have been commenting on the fact that I am singing more, am peppier, and that my eyes are "much less foggy right now" (Side note--Does pain give you foggy eyes?) Anyhow, this surprised me, as I frequently hide my pain and do my best to act as if I have more energy than I do. I did not realize that others could tell the difference between when I am in a lot of pain and when I have little or (in rare cases) no pain.

This realization made me think a bit differently about the practice of hiding physical pain. For me, as well as for other chronic pain patients I know, hiding our physical pain as much as possible is second nature. It can often seem like a matter of survival. For instance, I know that it distresses my family to see me suffer, so I try to down play it as much as possible. I also hid the extent of my pain from most of my high school class because I was afraid they wouldn't believe me, and I hide it for many other reasons as well. It seems sensible, yet, I am slowly learning that this practice of always hiding my pain can be counter-productive at least some of the time. I cannot expect others to help me when I am struggling with my condition if they do not know that I have chronic pain in the first place. Furthermore, I now realize that, if people are noticing that my eyes are sometimes foggy or that I seem low-energy, they can probably tell that something is "off" with me but do not know what. Telling others may help with this, but it's rarely that simple.

Shush-Writing

Hello! This is a different kind of writing for me. It is genreless, although I was definitely influenced by both creative non-fiction and poetry.  Basically, I decided to experiment with something out of my poetry comfort zone, as I thought the experimentation might lead me to new insights about my pain. I do think the experimentation led me to include more rhythm in my piece that I normally do, and I was also pleased with how this piece represents the frustration I often feel about pursuing new, and often ill-defined, remedies. I was trying to represent the barrage of information, opinions, and attempts, I experience. As always, click read more for the whole poem.

Shush

By: Blog Admin

“Shush.”

I cradle my head in my hands, as if my hushed voice could lull the nerves burning in a band around my head.

“You must be doing something wrong,” they say.

 I tiptoe around my migraine, wearing earplugs to shield it from the clanging dishes or blasts of music. Icepacks on my forehead. No preservatives in my diet. Gluten free muffins, spongy and deflated, for breakfast.

“Shush.”

Pain flares.

“This is your body sending you a message,” they say.

New Poem- Especially Then

Hello, readers. As part of my own personal writing therapy, I decided to write a different kind of poem today. I'm not going to explain it much because I think the title and the poem speak for themselves. Let's just say that, even though I often write about societal biases and ignorance in the face of chronic pain, I am deeply grateful for those who are not in chronic pain and have yet done their best to understand and share in some of the difficulty of chronic pain. If you are one of those people, this poem is for you. Please click "read more" for the full poem.

Especially Then

For my Dad, for my Mom, and for Everyone Else who Tries

By: Blog Admin

I want you to know that I love you.

I love you when you look at me, with my flushed cheeks,

the picture of health,  and still trust me, believing

a monster, an illness you cannot see, lurks in my brain.

I love you, even when I snap, yelling and stomping my

foot like a child because you cannot see

the way the edge of the table glimmers in green or

the way the walls ripple—the way the world

looks through the eyes of a girl with advanced Chronic

Migraine Syndrome.

And I love you, even when

 pain drills a hole through

my head,  and all you can do

is hold my hand, trembling.
Even then.

Especially then.

I want you to know that I’m sorry.

The Problem of Guilt and Chronic Pain

Dear Readers,

I’m sure most, if not all, people in chronic pain have experienced the subtle comments, looks, and societal beliefs that can make a person feel like he or she has chronic pain because of some personal failing. For instance, just a few of the many responses I have encountered include the disbelief when I say I am in pain all the time (What do you mean, there is pain that doesn’t shut off?), the constant suggestions which imply I could “fix” myself if I only did the right thing (Have you tried acupuncture, over the counter meds, more exercise, a better diet?), or the insistence that I did something to cause my pain in the first place (This is your body trying to send you a message. Or Maybe you are making everything worse by thinking about it too much).