Sometimes I wonder what I could do with a whole week of pain free days. Hell, a month.
Living without chronic pain means you don’t have an invisible curse you’re considering every minute, weighing each action against the consequences for the agony that can rise and fall based on what you choose to do.
I’m sick of saying “I can’t do that because of my back” and having dubious looks cast my way. I’d love to skate out at the start of derby bouts as a jeerleader, but I can only walk, sorry. Don’t look at me that way. I’d love to go hiking all day with you, but I can’t because it really hurts for a week afterwards. I’d like to have sex in that position, but I value my pain over your pleasure. I’m tired of my workmates and bosses forgetting I have a spinal injury as soon as I fail to mention it or look ‘in pain’ each and every day. I have amazing coping mechanisms, don’t you know? And I’m tired of never being offered the comfortable seating at venues by friends who know, who know! Maybe I should have a gushing visible wound instead, instead of twisted up vertebrae that I cover with a bunch of social grace.
My pain has been a lot better lately, but it is always there. I know no matter what I do, for the rest of my life, it’ll be there. It has stopped me skating, it stops me running-jumping-swimming-climbing mountains-bending to pick stuff up in my bedroom.
Fuck you, spine.
And sometimes I wonder what I could do with all the energy I’m expending on just keeping my spoons running along at a base level. I wonder, what I could do, what awesome things, if I wasn’t extremely busy being so damn careful all the time.
Sometimes I daydream about it.