My biggest struggle [possible trigger words]

[brick]

I hurt. All day, every day. It's a physical thing -- a millimeter or two of squished cartilage. That squished cartilage exposes a nerve. That nerve brushes up against two tumors. The tumors aren't cancerous. They're lipomas, small deposits of fatty tissue, mostly harmless. Most of the time, lipomas don't even merit attention. Sure, a hypochondriac might demand one be lanced and biopsied or even removed. (The best hypochondriacs, of course, have excellent medical insurance -- I, on the other hand, have none.) Usually, it's not even an issue. "Mostly harmless for most people." But in my case, the whole squishy mess rides on my spinal column. It creates a perfect storm of constantly refreshing pain waves.

The thing about chronic pain is that it becomes all you can think about. When I was 7 years old, some bullies held me down in the school playground. One of them started lightly tapping my forehead. Same spot, again and again. Tap, tap, tap. It didn't hurt, and I said so. "Just wait," he said. Tap, tap, tap. It continued to not hurt until all of a sudden it did. My head exploded, and I yelled and kicked. Even after the bully had stopped tapping my forehead, it continued to throb.

I remember that moment a lot. It appears in my dreams almost nightly. In my memory, sometimes the outcome changes. Sometimes I fight back the bullies before they pin me down. Sometimes I spit in their faces. Mostly, the vignette in my head ends the same way it ended in real life: a dark, wet stain spreads across my pants and I cry like a little girl. And then I wake up, my back throbbing, and I wish to anything I could, just once, sleep without dreaming.

As much as it rules my existence, however, I have more than physical pain. My emotional trauma comes from a number of sources. I was abused in more ways than one by a number of people who ought to have known better. I've been hospitalized and diagnosed and loaded up with pills. I've done therapy both group and solo. I know I have an anxiety disorder; I know I suffer from depression; I know what my warning signs are if I need to go back to the hospital.

Ten years ago, any thoughts about hurting myself or committing suicide would have been reason enough to call a crisis line. But now, the line has become blurred. Hurting myself would be redundant. I just want the pain to stop. I think every day about what it would be like if I could turn the pain off, just for a few minutes. And I flirt with the idea of death as the ultimate analgesic.

The key difference, of course, is that now I know suicide is the wrong option. A decade and a half of therapy and drugs and stern hospital workers bandaging my wrists and pumping my stomach convinced me of that. So I live a life of cognitive dissonance -- I know it's wrong, I'm not about to try anything, I don't even want to try anything -- but I can't stop thinking about it.

So every day I struggle. I struggle with my back. I struggle with my brain. I struggle to tell myself the negative thoughts are negative. I struggle to give myself positive reinforcement. I struggle to take care of myself, to follow my routine, to practice healthy emotional habits. This constant struggle is the single biggest challenge I've ever faced. There isn't a day that goes by I don't think about just quitting.

But then the healthy part of my brain, the part I've been flexing and exercising and trying to pump up, steps in. I know I have things to live for. I know I have friends and family and a supportive partner. I know I have projects to accomplish and experiences I'd like to have. I have goals and dreams and ambitions that have nothing to do with my pain. For a long time, I was just going through the motions, but now I'm starting to believe it. The negative chorus hasn't disappeared completely, but it's being drowned out by the positive things in my life.

I still hurt. My body still aches and twinges and gives out on me sometimes. But I keep going. Before, I kept going because I had to. Now, I keep going because I want to. Because I know I can. And that has made all the difference.

[Obayan]

I am so sorry that you had to live thru such pain. But I'm also glad that you have found a path thru it for you. Please keep talking and sharing. I see you in the chat room often. I'm glad I am now seeing you in the forums as well.

[brick]

Thanks. I hope other people will read this and realize that "it works if you work it."