Hi, Pain –
This isn’t what I expected. This isn’t what I planned for. You’re here so much more than I imagined because you filled in the spaces that others left vacant. I never thought my life would look like this. And I’m tired of people telling me to create a new picture of happiness. I painted that image once before. I don’t have the energy to start over and I already used up all my favorite colors. For once, can someone else make art out of this mess?
Hi, Pain –
You became too much to bear and so I ran away. I’ve become a grief refugee. I know I can’t escape you completely but I came to stay in a place where contentment exists. Where the energy of honest people and joyful chaos fill in the gaps of the day so that it bursts with life. They’re not mine but I can borrow them for a little while. It is a second-hand happiness. It is a life raft as I navigate through a stagnant ocean of despair. You’ll still be there, just on the other side of familiar shores , but maybe hope will be there, too. I guess we’ll see.
Hi, Pain –
I had to say a different kind of goodbye recently. One I anticipated and yet it still arrived so suddenly and without enough warning. The creaking of the empty pew and your shadowy presence were all that accompanied my mournful tears that day. No words of affection. No comforting arm around my shaking shoulders. Only Sadness sat beside me with Anger close behind. An elemental part of my past self is forever buried with her now and I can’t help but smolder and assign blame because anyone who meets a future me will never know it. Not truly. Not firsthand. Grainy photographs and well-worn memories are not sufficient substitutes for taking a seat at the table that so lovingly crafted who I became. If you don’t know me currently, you’ll never know me completely.
Hi, Pain –
It’s been a long day. I’m tired, I’m worn out, I’m hungry. I wish it could be someone else’s responsibility to procure and prepare some food. But no one is here. It’s just me and you and it is not in your nature to take care of me.
Hi, Pain –
Are your bags packed? We’re going on an adventure! At first I didn’t know if I was taking this trip because of you or in spite of you. Either way, I had hoped this international escapade was going to be an escape from you for a little bit. Now I know you’ll be with me every step of the way. You’ll be the only one with me. My excitement about my first solo travel experience has given way to the realization that all it means is I won’t have someone to share it with. “Solo” is really just a rebranding of “alone.”
Hi, Pain –
I’ve been keeping myself busy lately so it’s been easier to push you to the corners of my mind and forget you for a little while. This weekend I visited a place where a lot of memories live and there you were, at the forefront, among the shadows of what my life used to be. I couldn’t ignore you any more. The comforts of home always come with a price.
Hi Pain –
You were so raucous last night I couldn’t sleep. You followed that up by distracting me with your antics all day long. I wondered why you were being more disruptive that usual today but all I had to do was look at the calendar. Sometimes I can’t believe you are still here. Then sometimes I’m forced to admit to myself it’s because I let you stay.
Hi, Pain –
New year, same you. You really did rage last week – I guess you wanted to end the shitstorm of a year with a bang. Thanks for that. I know you’re coming in hot for 2023, but can you please go easy on me this January? I need a little bit of a break before you go full tilt again come mid-February.
Hi, Pain –
It’s Boxing Day! I know it’s a UK holiday, but still… Does that mean we box up all of our emotions and shove them to the back of the attic with the rest of the Christmas decorations? Can that be how we celebrate it here in the States? Please!
Hi, Pain –
Christmas is practically right on top of us. I guess that means you’re going to be around even more than usual these next few days. Probably a lot more. Unfortunately, the magic of the season has nothing to do with making you disappear – I see you more clearly in the twinkle of every colorful light bulb and I hear you all the louder in every note of overplayed and overly saccharine holiday songs. Not only are you here, but you have unpacked and are taking up space. There’s no place left for Joy, Celebration, and Hope this year, you’ve kicked them all out so you can make yourself feel right at home. Sure does give a whole new meaning to “no room in the inn.”
You’ve kept me so busy recently that I haven’t even finished started shopping. Most people are going to get apologies and IOUs from me this Christmas. As you know, I do have fewer people to buy for this year, though. Maybe I should get you a little something as well. After all, you have been a constant companion so it only seems fair. A gift from Etsy, perhaps? A cute little homemade ware created by someone who is clearly doing something much more constructive with their trauma than humanizing an emotion? Or maybe Sephora is really your speed – I think overpriced skin care to temporarily boost our self confidence feels more on brand.
.chasing bluebirds. 