I know. You've heard it all before. I've heard it all before. I've chanted "it's only pain" so often I ought to be able to compose a complete set of variations on the theme. So just skip away, there ain't anything new here. I just feel a need to rant, because nothing else is working. But now I can't rant, because there actually is nothing to say apart from "I hurt. A lot." - and that accomplished, that heard, that accepted, what's left?
The worst thing about chronic pain is how useless it is. It isn't telling me anything. It's not even warning me of any real problems. Why the hell my body feels that it's fulfilling some need in making me hurt is beyond me. It isn't even as though today is a worst-pain day - hell, I'm at the keyboard typing, aren't I? at its worst moments it's been a 7/10 day, and the drugs have done a good job of keeping me mostly at 4-5 apart from breakthroughs. Worse days are common, but I don't tend to bleat on when they happen.
Just to reassure the twitchy among you: I'm not suicidal. I'm not going to cut, or anything like that, no matter how tempting it would be to have at least a little pain under my control. I'm not going to do anything more astounding than try to get downstairs to make lunch for Jus, then try to see if I can get back upstairs again to bed. If not, there's the sofa. But, damnit all, I resent it. I resent it bitterly. I want my life back, and I want it now.
frustrated