The subjects of pain is complex, hostile, it drives people away like a splinter. Pain is darkness on communication, a shifting cloud. In some ways I hesitate to talk about chronic pain because I feel so fortunate, so healthy and productive and vital and supported. My life is far too easy, bright and joyful to be useful as a point of view on survival. Other times like today. I disagree. Not that I am fortunate, I am. fortunate and so grateful for everything i have - all the love and support. I disagree that i'm not in enough pain to make my point of view on suffering it matter.
Because I disagree that *enough* exists, that there is a maximum amount of pain one needs to feel in order to talk about it
I wake up in pain. Real pain. when was the last time you were in real pain. A bee sting, hand slammed in a door, a dead friend.
Pain sings, bright mother of pearl sound screaming out of the meat in the meat around my joints, muscles wafting pain like fog. Sharp crescent moon kneecaps, liquid silver knuckles on the rings fingers of both my hands, my thumbs, the top of my arms, my chest wall, a bright knot of muscle in my jaw.
Still…Its so hard to say, This body- it's hard to move some of it's hinges, the ribbons inside it are twisted, frayed, marble pressed into new shapes. This body, this one right now is in pain.
Enough exists, and I feel it.