A galaxy must collapse on itself, for a star to be born.
One of the things that quietly keeps the fire in my belly alight, is my obscene ability to endure. It’s what I hold onto in the long, very lonely nights, when the darkness licks at my skin and a sense of isolation, tenderly plays with my hair and cradles my mind with her cruel hands.
There is nothing more dangerous than somebody who simply refuses to give up.
I think I seek out my own suffering. I’m attracted to it. I get off on it, because I know I can beat it at it’s own game. And there is nothing more thrilling than winning a game that was rigged against the player. Thats what makes gambling such an addictive vice. If I was less complicated, I would probably take that up instead. But I like a game with strategy, and mine is simply this: To outlast everyone playing until the very pain itself gives up.
But, this game only works if I have pieces to move around the board.
When the pain is on the inside, theres no way to play with it.
My kidneys are in what the very scrotum looking old man doctor said was a ‘Critical Medical Situation’.
I’ve had a bad cough for about a week, three days ago my left lower ribs, started to hurt like somebody had reached in pulled them apart. This morning I woke up sweaty, snot was dripping out of my nose and I couldn’t breath. It wasn’t that my lungs were blocked, but with every breath a wall of white blinded me. It felt like fire was seducing me and this was it’s idea of foreplay.
Every breath was a choice, a deliberation. If I didn't breath, it wouldn’t hurt.
I sleep naked, sexy I know, but only because I tend to wiggle in bed and clothes just leave me very much tangled up. So I rolled onto my stomach, and tried to push myself up. But when your abs feel as though they are being stabbed repeatedly by someone on crack with serious daddy issues that they feel as though they need to work out on you in some dark alleyway, sit ups are just not a option.
I crawled to my wardrobe and pulled on my fluffy pink dressing gown.
Pain like this infuriates me. Pain like this, sits deep inside you but also just under your skin. It makes your flesh want to peel off in it’s attempts to get out. But you can’t touch pain like this, you also can’t see it.
I’m not weak. I also don’t cry under just any circumstances. But pain like this, pulled my face into an unwilling grimace and tears rushed to find some way to escape my eyes.
I don’t like pain I have no control over. Pain I can’t flirt with. I will outlast this. And I will be okay once again.
But maybe pain has just finally figured out how to play the game properly.