I had some pain I didn’t want to feel. My plan had been not to feel pain, and the pain was disrupting my plans. I flittered from activity to activity, trying not to feel pain, avoiding landing on any one spot. I was neglecting my duties. The pain from these neglected duties started creeping in around the edges. I knew I had to be on-guard from that sort of thing, didn’t understand why I wasn’t better. I tried to return harder to my plans, even though they were splitting apart. But I was afraid of pain, and I was afraid that it would fuck me up. I detached and watched everything unravel. I felt sick watching it, but I thought that I should suppress the sickness like I suppressed the pain. It was better to be healthy than sick. Using this health I could get back to whole. Time kept passing.
The pain was that things weren’t gonna go as well for me as I had thought they were, and I was never gonna be who I thought I could be, and that I was fool for everything thinking I could.
I had some pain I didn’t want to feel. I felt it most nights when I went to sleep. I would wake up feeling it in the mornings. Sometimes I would wake up from a dream not feeling it, and I would notice that I wasn’t feeling it, and then I would feel it return. I would feel it walking down the street, and stop and think. People would bump into me, walk around me. I was an inconvenience to them. I’d keep poking the pain to see if it still hurt. I was impatient to feel it be gone. Sometimes it would disappear and come welling back. I never felt well or whole. I felt the burden of a chronic ailment. I didn’t want to be a patient. I didn’t want to let people worry about me. I told people I could trust not to care enough, or who didn’t have enough power over me to tell me to change. I knew that it would pass. But it didn’t feel possible.
The pain was some fucking bullshit. I don’t want to talk about it.
Had some pain. Didn’t want it. You know the story I’m telling. Everybody has pain. Most more than me. “You think that’s bad…” people say. They bounced back stronger. I couldn’t deal with the pain they had. It would break me. My pain, I made it myself. I let it mess me up. It was never anything.
I had some pain I didn’t want to feel, though.
Came from someone else’s pain. I didn’t have the right feelings. Or didn’t want to feel them. I wanted there to be no pain in that. I remembered when I was on the other side, and there was pain for me in someone else’s feelings. I hated that pain. I never wanted to create it. I didn’t want to look. In trying to look away, I caused more pain. I felt more pain. It took more and more of who I was. I couldn’t let it pass. I looked in the face of it. It wasn’t as bad as I had thought. It wasn’t okay, though. Nothing is okay. It’s just that sometimes we’re out of it.
I had some pain in my knee. I didn’t want to be the kind of person feeling knee pain. I tried to ignore it. It grew. Sometimes it comes back. I kept telling myself I wasn’t getting weaker. But that’s only “not yet.” It will happen. And it’s a piece of that real pain, the pain I keep putting off confronting, the pain that first cut my mind when I was a child, that I escaped only because childhood seemed so long, seemed so far from it, the pain I defined myself by when I was coming up, because I felt it so often, thought it was my special pain, the pain that I told people about like I had some special insight into it, that became my obsession, that haunted me when other people didn’t acknowledge it, that I later began to see as not mine, not anyone’s, not interesting, but that still would come for me in the night, would encompass all pains.
Sometimes my heel hurt, too.
When a pain would leave me a calm would set in. And then the calm would dissolve, slowly, and shape into a pain more dull, dispersed, barely pain at all, and I’d think of how much I felt like a person when the pain was acute and there was some triumph over it. And I’d think “good times.” And I’d be afraid to create more of them.