pain relief

Everything hurts today. My throat hurts, my back hurts, my legs hurt just from walking up one flight of stairs, and I’m having cramps. You’d think that after the trauma I’ve been through, the least my body could do is skip a menstrual period and give me a break from cramps, migraine and nausea — but no, it appears to be right on schedule.

I reached for a bottle of generic acetaminophen — labeled simply Pain Relief — and suddenly wanted to throw it across the room. How dare they promise that? There is no relief from my pain.

I have a small bottle of Xanax, prescribed after I had my first ever anxiety attack the day before the memorial service. I haven’t taken one yet. I’ve only hit the bong once, the first morning when I woke up without him and the pain that washed over me was paralyzing. I’m on guard against letting myself numb out. I know I have to work through the pain.

But it’s so hard… and I’m so tired…

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~ by hourbeforedawn on March 18, 2010.

4 Responses to “pain relief”

  1. sometimes, even when we feel weak, we are actually so much stronger than we imagine. i see your strength lira. keep going… i’m praying that tomorrow is a better day for you.

  2. Losing someone you love so much is so heartbreaking. It’s exhausting and hard. But the pain lightens as time goes on. It is really good that you are trying to not be numb, sometimes that makes it much harder, because it hits you one day 10 times stronger. I think the xanax will help on those days when you feel like you can’t breathe, and something very heavy is sitting on your chest. Of course, the other works too.
    He didn’t want you to worry about him. He knew how much you loved him, and how much he loved you.. I think he was trying to comfort you for what you’d go through.
    *hugs*

  3. you are walking through the fire right now, i know you are strong and can do it. 🙂

  4. i stumbled on your blog through another, and i read through mostly all of it last night, and have come to “visit” you this morning. i am 15 months away from losing my love. your words are raw and explain the anguish simply and so accurately. the part where you write about throwing the pain relief tablets across the room remind me of sitting in a lecture hall last year, being haunted by the red “exit” signs above the doors. i wanted to throw a million glass bottles at them because they were lying. they would not allow me what they promised – an “exit.”

    i am so sorry. this sucks.

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