Pain

Disclaimer: This exposé is not written to measure up my pain to anyone else’s, or infer my pain is superior. In my opinion any attempt to do so would display gross bigotry, incompetence, carelessness, and egotism.
​Some can spot a mercury dime laying on the other side of the room, and others can hear a faint knock over the bellows of the Rolling Stones. I have a different talent; I can sense pain in all its glory as soon as it enters the vicinity. I cringe at the thought of the inevitable as an abused dog sits diligently for its master to unleash his fury. Pain embeds itself into my mind, and festers like maggots on dead flesh. It is recognizable behind the pupils of my eyes and the smile on my lips. The words escaping my throat beg its captor for relief. The need for relief is so overwhelming it becomes the sole thought that dominates all. Anemic to pain, I naturally became infatuated with anything that may extinguish the pain. I never found it.
Instead, I found a vial of anesthesia that offered to numb the pain. I never cared about the potential side effects as the need for relief outweighed those risks. This elixir gave me the relief I so desperately craved, and soon became my companion to cope with life’s heartaches. These effects did not last very long, I found myself groping for other forms of anesthetic. Thereafter I spent almost every moment obsessing, and scheming for ways to numb myself.  Numb myself I did, eradicating the pain I did not.
Numbness became the reality in my life. No tear shed over the losses sustained, and no serendipitous smile during the remarkable moments were ever seen. Purpose, hope, and sense of worth died and replaced by numbness. The very serum that was supposed to dispose of pain, became my greatest pain. To not feel my soul, nor the affection of loved ones turned out to be utter torture. I kept on using to numb myself from my numbness. Absurdness is a matter of perception; to me, this was a reality as the laws of nature are real to us all. As love potions intoxicate with the fantasies of perfect love; I kept chasing that perfect effect I had the first time. It never came.
Anesthesia never heals a wound; akin to wrapping a piece of scotch tape around a busted pipe; though I never saw it that way. The wounds kept getting greater and more agonizing until they eventually burst. I crashed as messy as a 10 wheeler effaced by the Jersey Wall on Route 66. Many times I have crashed, as the story kept perpetuating each time I got back on my feet. Akin to opening eyes at daybreak seeing the light and basking in its warmth and closing the; preferring to drift into the allure of sleep offering an escape from hell.
Fuses are blown all the time and remain that way, others are reset while others are replaced. The moment I believed in my own power did I feel the strength to change the story. The story isn’t much different than how it started; pain is always there, and I always feel every excruciating nuance of it. The narrative alters when sobriety is introduced. Sobriety does not eradicate the pain nor does it anesthetize. It opens the door to control the effect of pain with certain skillsets, and drops those keys in my lap.
Learning about the causes of my pain uncovers fresh wounds I did not realize existed; and per nature, I feel the intensity as if my hand were thrust into the furnace. Oddly enough, the more I come to terms with my pain u, the harsh effects become less profound. I am starting to internalize the credence of “pain is necessary while suffering is not”. It is not easy, and I always feel the darkness ‘s call of promised bliss. Now that I believe I own the keys to my life, I am hard-pressed to give them up. I do not wish to trade my one moment of being human for a decade of being a zombie.

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