The Beginning Part 1

“These will keep you busy,” the well-meaning librarian said about my stack of books. “Yes, um, I read them at night when I can’t sleep,” I said. I didn’t want to explain that it was the pain that kept me up. No one likes to hear about chronic pain. It’s not pretty, sexy, or interesting. (I can just picture the conversation….”I got shot in the head today Jane, how has YOUR day been?” Of course, it’s not an actual bullet, but it may as well be.)
On the drive home, the shooting pain made me pull over for a bit. When I finally got home, all I heard was noise. Oh joy. Running footsteps greeted me at the front stairs. “Oh.” The visiting kids dashed away after discovering it was only me. No one else bothered to see how I was. They were used to me being in pain by now. I went to get an ice pace for my neck, and pondered my situation. No money, no real job, still living at home. Not to mention the pain.
Oh the pain. It’s not an easy thing to get people to understand. People like me are often thought to be having bad migraines, or to be seeking attention. In reality, there is nothing we would like more than to escape it.
My brother banged on my door with his fist. “Dinner.” Living with the pain and living with kids is a joy. Really. I promise. It’s great. Right? Mealtimes usually are the worst for me. You would think I would lose weight eating so little, but I have yet to be that lucky. It’s a double edged sword. On one hand, I get yelled at by mother for not eating enough, or not eating what everyone else is. (But logic has overcome, and they have pretty much given up now) On the other hand, I immediately regret eating when the pain kicks in. But I have to eat. Have to keep going. Keep living. They call it “the suicide disease” because the pain is almost constant and excruciating, and some people just decide they can’t live with it anymore. I understand that…but it is never something I would do.