Sleepless

It's pure, unadulterated pain. I spend my nights dozing, unable to fully sleep because of the pain that prevents me from finding a comfortable position. It aches, burns and stabs through my knees, legs and back. The muscles in my legs aching with a pain that no stretch, no exercise, no technique will mitigate. The night is when I pay for the sins of my vanity, the sin of knowing that I can carry more with both hands, I can walk faster without relying on the cane, the crutches. I can will myself to be almost normal, but there is a price for that willfulness.

The stab of pain that slices raggedly through my knee causes me to draw my breath in as though its the first time I've ever felt it. Except it manages to continually surprise me. How, after so long can it surprise me? How, when I feel pain day by day, moment by moment, does it catch me off guard? I weather the storm, tensed and fearful of the next one. Hoping I feel nothing but reliable aching, knowing that the cutting pain will come in moments, always, forever. When I am weak it reduces me to tears.

I work so hard to hide the worst of the pain during the day. I work so hard to hide it during the week. And I pay for it. I pay. Nights are rendered sleepless, pointless in pain. Weekends are nothing more than days to suffer the fullest extent of my efforts to hide from the world. The pain contorts me into the old hag of stories, crooked and hunched, shuffling along the walls and furniture grasping for support.

I'm ashamed at how aged I feel. I'm ashamed of the pain that steals my life from me. I'm ashamed of how it steals the life from my family, leaving them to take care of each other and me.

My patience and willpower wear thin after a while. There isn't a reprieve.  There is never relief.