it started when you were younger, age of 3. the doctors said she will grow out of it, growing pains. when every night was a constant cry and the pillows you used under your legs no longer provided comfort. your mother grew exhausted from the constant reassurance. her hands hurting from rubbing you. you start to love the smell of medicine, from icy hot to cough syrup to help you fall asleep at night. finding comfort in the smell. you get older, you’re starting to grow and so does the pain. from legs to your wrists. they now can’t handle your constant complaining.
“they can’t hurt that bad.”
so from a young age you start to pop pills to help you get through the day. 50mg of Advil turns into 1000mg of ibuprofen. you learn to stop complaining about the pain and to suffer in silence. bite your lip and choke back your tears. your older now. everything hurts all the time. you have graduated from physical pain to mental trauma.
you grew up with your pain, like an abusive father. found comfort in the things it provided. so when you started to cause pain to yourself on purpose.
when the medicine stopped working, you take a pill, but when the dosage is too low, you cause more pain to yourself to take your mind off the other thing that is hurting.
but what you are doing is hurting others. why can’t they find the comfort in it too? i had to at a young age. when you are in so much pain you rather be numb, cold, and drained.
you start to love new things. the color red, the cold feeling of metal on your skin, hot baths that have seemed to have overflowed, warm tears streaming into your mouth, the sight of fire, and having a clump of hair in your hand.
you find comfort in them. like a best friend you never had or a hug you never got when you were younger.
i live with the pain now. and it has made a permanent home in my body.
