Sunday, August 10, 2014


Today I officially acknowledged someone I've known for years. Her name is Painzilla (not to be confused with Bridezilla.) On the outside, we look somewhat alike, save the fact that Painzilla looks like small wildlife could live in her finger-in-a-socket hair, and her skin is more pale and pasty than porcelain. Her eyes lack that twinkle mine usually have, and overall she just looks like a mess. She is exhausted, quick-tempered and half-witted. I will tell her story.

There comes a point when pain transforms me into a horrible monster, fed by guilt, frustration and general sadness over my situation. During times when the pain I've dealt with daily either worsens, or is accompanied by excess outside stress, Painzilla emerges from the shadows. She is super-sensitive, and it doesn't really matter what tone is used when speaking to her, because everything is taken as an insult or assault. No matter if you're talking about grocery lists or home d├ęcor, Painzilla finds a way to spin the conversation into an argument about nothing. Painzilla's wrath makes PMS look look like kindergarten play.

She feels so sad and alone that watching "Jersey Shore" or "Sex and the City" brings her to tears. Painzilla feels isolated and depressed by her medical woes, and her general lack of interaction with the outside world makes her pitiful and annoying to be around. In turn she withdraws to spare those around her more stress and pitifulness, and THAT withdrawal makes her more lonely and isolated. She feels pathetic. Painzilla is a mess.

Painzilla takes everything personally, because the world outside her brain does not exist when the pain is so horrid. Her pain is like being attached to ten ton weights that drown her in her own despair.  She can't breathe. The air she breathes is pain. The food she eats is pain. The sleep she gets is pain. She dreams about pain. There is no escape.

Her world has been dwindled down to such a small population of family and friends that she has no one that isn't already overburdened to talk to about these issues. She feels guilt for what her pain is doing to her family, yet she gets angry that some aren't being more empathetic, even when that's all they're trying to be. When pain is your life, there isn't enough empathy in the world to calm the spirit.

So Painzilla and I had a discussion today, and while many of the aforementioned issues may remain, she will no longer be handling them for me. I'm making a conscious decision and effort to move toward a happier existence, pain or no pain. That's not to say that the pain won't continue to effect me, but I hope to change the WAYS it effects me. Painzilla is packing her bags. Get your autographs now, because she on her way out.