The Damned Unsettling Pain
I have a bit of a threshold for pain. I can tolerate quite a bit and don’t worry too much about wounds once the initial shock has subsided. But right now I am in so much fuckin’ pain I hate myself and I hate the world around me. I am trying to control it and maybe, along with my loss record in life currently, I don’t put my heart into my faith. I should, and I try, but it doesn’t always happen for me. God does answer my prayers; more often with ‘no’, or ‘sorry, that’s not for you’.
(Fuck, the pain is subsiding a little with the aspirin but I hate taking drugs. I can feel the throbbing into the back of my skull, and I hate feeling weak or injured, or impotent for that matter. I’m not a success, I don’t feel happy, and I am trying to write, and the damned writer’s block won’t leave me anything but shitty little poems and I don’t like writing them, but at least they’re expressive.)
It doesn’t even feel like a punch, a large smack that lands on your face or head, jarring your brain, making you shudder and jerk, then fall down or ringing in your ears, keeping awake for fear of never opening your eyes again. It’s worse. It feels like a boring worm, spinning & eating into your ears from the inside out, tearing into your jawline, making you wish you could rend your mouth open, remove any ailment, and stop the fucking pain completely. The damned internal throbbing is the worst: think Marathon Man & the phrase, “Is it safe?” I am going to prepare a few worksheets and maybe take the day off, see the dentist and take what little money there is in my pocket with me, hoping for a miracle of cheap/inexpensive dental work. I can’t even afford to lose a day of work but I don’t have a choice and need to get some fuckin’ relief or I will rip off someone’s skull at the wrong time. I am driving across town near my old home where my family lives (meaning my folks) and hope I don’t need to call my father for a ride home if I am too woozy IF I have a procedure done to me.
Pain of failure.
Pain of disappointment.
Pain of sadness.
Pain of loss.
Pain.
Honestly, I’d rather rail against the world, crying out, hoping for justice, change, or hope; instead I am a ball of flesh weeping on the floor.
Most often I ignore the pain, and maybe that’s why I can’t heal anything about myself.
And I hate that about myself.
I guess those are reasons I’m not successful.
I was trying to write about my last set of miserable moments but that didn’t happen. I was trying to write about my mother being diagnosed with cancer, my client bailing on me for an art job, and my shitty day taking care of two classrooms instead of one.
That’s when Google lost my entry, and I shifted gears; and that was last week’s pain.
This week’s pain is much fuckin’ closer.
Throbbing.
Relentless.
Sickening.
And like everything else, compounded, like any loser would do making sure of a fucked-martyr’s death. But a martyr dies for a cause; I have no cause, and I have no self.
Here I end my pity-party, and hopefully I’ll find less suffering and get my smile back later.
And write again.
Maybe even something erotic, something charged, something soulful and escapist.
Something …
Bye for now.
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Fuck, I am GOING tomorrow morning, or I am gonna go crazy.
Bye dear readers.
********* ADDENDUM ************
Thank you for the support: I was given Tramadol, a reference and something else ... Amoxicillin. I'll post some cell-phone photos and my thoughts on my other blog later on tonight if there's time.
