An Open Letter to My Pain

Dear Chronic Pain,

You’re a jerk, you know that, right? Hate is not a strong enough word for how I feel about you. Loathing, contempt, disdain—these will all do nicely. You have robbed me of more than 10 years of my life and for what? Do you have a reason? A purpose? A divine message from God? WHAT???

You entered my life just when I thought it would finally be wonderful. Perfect. I had just lost 125 pounds and there you were as I penciled in my goal weight, standing in the shadows with a smirk on your face waiting to destroy my happiness. I was thinner, yes, but now I suffered with you every day.

You have ruined vacations, dinner parties, coffee with a buddy, weekend workshops, and time with my husband. You invaded the weddings of my nieces and nephews and the funerals of my parents, places you most certainly were not invited or wanted.

What did I do, or not do, to deserve your presence? I have done everything I thought was right in my life. I was the perfect everything, the eraser-clapper who never stopped clapping. I clap for the people who love me. I clap for the people I want to like me. I clap and clap and clap, as if I am an entire audience cheering for approval. Now I am a vision of wanna-be perfection mired in pain that never stops.

Oh, and because you are constantly around, pounding on the sides of my head as if you are the clapper in the giant bell that is my skull, I cannot think straight. So if you have a purpose, it would be awesome if you made it known because, dude, I’m too dense to get the point.


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