ADDICTED TO PAIN
My therapist tells me I am addicted to pain. That very statement felt like a cold shower in winter. It jolted me from the inside and the word pain made me shiver all over.
Pain. I know it too well. I have always treated pain like a family member. Someone who is constant, someone who is always there, and someone who hovers even if you don’t want them around. I told my therapist that is how I see pain and that I do not have a choice but to live with it.
There were many instances in my life when I have experienced pain. I mean, we all have. My very first memories of pain were mostly physical. When I was around 5 years old, I was playing with my sister and got into an accident and cut my leg. I was sure I would get in trouble for hurting myself so I blamed my sister and called for my aunt instead of my parents, because I knew she would never scold me. We were scared to tell our parents the truth when we were kids, even when we were hurting. My parents had an odd way of loving us. They would scold us and ask us difficult questions when we found ourselves in a bit of trouble - even if it was something out of our control. We were questioned so much on how we did things. Everything seemed to be done wrong when we try to explain our side. This caused us to try so hard, and when our trying is still not enough, we resorted to white lies or exclusion of the truth. Nobody wants to be criticized. It is embarrassing. We were taught that failures and mistakes are embarrassing and should be avoided at all costs. Every scolding and criticism was painful. I call these memories the first tiny cracks of my heart.
My first big heartbreak was finding out my Papa was cheating on my Mama. My Papa was my hero. His opinion and his words were sacred to me so when I found out he was only human, I could not accept him. I lashed out. I remember getting a cutter & his mistress’s clothes, and shredding it to pieces. I remember screaming at him with much rage. I don’t know how I looked like, but I am sure it was the first time I was brave enough to confront him. I remember running away. I remember looking for comfort from friends. I remember my mama visiting me and bringing me food but allowing me to take my time. All these things I remember, but what I remember the most, is how it felt like when I found out my Papa was cheating.
PAIN. That was my first real pain I think. The first big crack of my broken heart.
Pain no matter the form leaves an imprint in your heart, or maybe in your brain. Small doses of pain caused by unmet expectations, or a big wave of pain from huge disappointments, when not faced eye-to-eye, it leaves us little cracks that come back for us when we grow older.
My second bout with pain that left a huge crack on my heart was my breakup with my husband, then boyfriend. He admitted to loving me less and regretting being with me. It was like being stabbed in the stomach over and over again. I remember calmly telling him I understand and asking him to stay away from me until I heal. I wept and grieved and dealt with the pain as it demanded to be felt, and I eventually became okay. We eventually became okay. I am married to him for 10 years now. This crack, I felt healed itself because I allowed myself to mourn and dealt with it. It gave me closure.
And then came my Mama’s cancer and death. The fight with pain was daily. I learnt how to cope with it by punishing myself and beating myself up. I did not face pain head on, I caused pain to myself instead. Pain that I can deal with - working like a dog, getting angry at people over small things, lashing out at work, getting stressed over little things with my kids, pushing my husband away, and even compromising my commitments. A big crack with smaller cracks I created for myself, so I can be busy enough to pretend to fix small cracks and have some kind of control. The smaller cracks only made things worse.
The death of my Papa the year after my Mama died, and losing Bjorn the year after that, were the last two blows I took before I finally broke into tiny pieces. After these big blows came rounds of smaller cracks and more self-inflicted pain, until my vessel became full of emotions bursting to the seams, and the cracks finally gave in.
Pain, confusion, and exhaustion. Emotional landslide.
A dark hole. That is how I would describe my relationship with depression and anxiety. The inability to be productive, the need to be constantly asleep, being perpetually tired, or being tired of being perpetually tired. I even wrote about how how I was always mourning and tired aimlessly that I ran out of words to express it. I wrote to make something tangible out of my sadness so I can hold it and put it away for good. I wanted to run and escape, and so I did. I traveled to the other side of the world to search for peace, a momentary joy, or a brief moment of being held by someone who I knew can assure me that I would be okay. No matter how far I ran, I still found pain. And so, I thought, maybe I am to live this life living with pain. Not even the people I hold closest to my heart can stop it.
A lot of people who have experienced extreme sadness can easily undermine depression. I understand this too well. I was one of those people. I always thought I have lived a life of misfortunes that I am well too acquainted with pain and sadness. But when I was sad, I can still go out into the world, smile and see joy, be productive, conquer fears. With depression, I secluded myself from everyone including those who love me - maybe not physically but emotionally, I use laughter and joy to keep people from seeing me, I did not care about being productive, and I challenged fear.
My turning point is best represented by a coat hanger. A metal coat hanger in a small cheap cabinet in an air-conditioned room. I was staring at it begging for it to make the exhaustion go away. I couldn’t remember the people I love, I couldn’t remember my passions or my purpose for living, I couldn’t even remember why I was there. I just wanted it all over. I was begging for it to stop - whatever it was I was feeling that time. It didn’t have a name. I couldn’t even give it a face anymore. I just knew it needed to stop.
PAIN. Running from pain. Exhaustion from the hurt. Exhaustion from running. Running in circles from one pain to another. At some point it has to stop, right? But I was in my dark hole. Way into deep inside the hole the was built for me, not even knowing or realizing there were people who cared about me waiting outside, believing that I can get myself out.
How do you get out of the hole when the pain burdening you is something you refuse to let go?
I have no answers for this. I am addicted to pain, or so I was told. My first question was, How can I be addicted to something that is breaking me? If I am to visually describe my heart, I see a million cracks that it is hard to even hold it with both hands, even if I handled my heart with utmost care. Being told that I wasn’t running away from pain but I was running to it again and again is awfully confusing, but there must be some truth to it.
This piece is declaration - my breakup with pain. I have no idea how I will do it. How can you breakup with someone you thought you never liked anyway? But I want to live in the present and live my life with the people I love and those who care for me. I want to be productive. I want to work with passion like I used to. I want to love fully. I want to not be afraid of anything again. I want to be able to look at pain straight in the eye and tell it that I am not bound by it anymore.
Since this is an addiction. I guess I will have to treat it like one. I will give myself a deadline to let go of pain, I will change my environment, I will find alternative activities that will help me stay in the present, I will try to see what my past attempts of quitting pain and think how I can do things differently, and of course, find my support group.
I woke up today feeling extremely anxious. I know my depression is looming around the corner, I know what my triggers are, and I decided to finish writing this piece with some kind of resolve. I know my pain, grief, guilt, and fears are somewhere near again. But the thing with pain is, it can give you something to hold on to too. My last huge crack was the loss of my baby girl, Rye. The pain I experienced with her was hopeful. My baby girl taught me surrender, and with it, hope. With the tiny bit of hope she gave me, I am given a small nudge that allowed my world to shift. And now I am able to see myself and my pain from afar, objectively.
I am addicted to pain. I am an addict to a certain degree but this doesn’t have to define the rest of my life. I realize, I do have a choice. I don’t have to live like I do not have a choice of living with pain because I do. I can always choose to see it as a friend who I need to bid goodbye and who may come back one day. But I don’t need to get attached to it. Maybe pain will be back in my life again someday. But I will live my life with or without it.
Really, truly, LIVE.
