The problem with pain

The problem with pain is that it never manifests simply as pain.  Pain in itself is bad enough, but as it is so often the effect of some other ailment or unfortunate occurrence (but not always), it often acts as the cause of so many other conditions: depression, insomnia, fatigue, irritability, etc. etc. etc.

It is, I think, depression that is the worst.  I don't mean to blame my pain for all of it; in fact, I've had depression on and off since elementary school (isn't it funny- we "have" depression like we "have" sex.  The possessive nature of certain wordings always fascinates me).  But it would certainly be unfair to blame my depression for my pain, though they often do make fine dance partners.

Stress and sorrow always seem to worsen pain.  In my case, of course, it is the simple fact of the pain's muscular nature (I just found out a fancy new way to refer to my precise condition-- myofascial pain syndrome) that allows the moods to aggravate it.  Consider the ways in which we all are affected by anxiety-- it is simply multiplied by the already plagued muscles.  The worst of it, however, I feel comes from the way that a pain so cleverly handled/ignored can sneak into the subconscious and leave one crying without feeling any genuine reason.

Today, I was filled with melancholy.  Everything made me emotional; much like I always cry at a Hallmark commercial (a bit cliche, yes, but I'm too depressed, ergo this post, to come up with something cleverer), I found myself in tears at the smallest of things.  Advertisements for comedies, a review of Lottery Ticket (they mentioned Bow Wow's friendship to a co-star), listening to a piece of The Old Man in the Sea in the car (and not even a sad bit- they were talking about baseball).

But also, there was the exhaustion.  It feels in this case much like having had one too many drinks.  There's some dizziness to it, and it almost tricks you into thinking you've caused your own weepiness.  (Small note- having actually had a few glasses of wine at this point, I actually am feeling quite a bit better-- wine always helps a little, despite being a depressant.  I wonder why that is?  Relaxation aid?  Antioxidants?).  In reality, however, I know that my trigger point injections are the culprits.  I had almost twenty of them on Wednesday and, whatever Web MD (or my dr at that..) might say, they hurt.

Well, one hurt quite terribly, anyway.  A few didn't hurt at all.  Most of them, however, just hurt a fair bit.  Afterwards, the entire span of my back ached.  I know it will feel better tomorrow, but I know the realization that I will be having this treatment again and again, at least once a month, for the time being (and now the Buddhologist in my yells 有時!  Which is to say that the time being is now is forever, but that's another story...). 

Such agony relived.  That's not even the worst of it, alas!, I return to physical therapy (can't say PT anymore after trying a physical trainer) for the forth time since the accident.  So, I suppose in addition to all the other factors, the loss of faith can also be quite dismantling.  I don't merely mean religious faith, but the loss of any sense of confidence in medicine and, eventually, humanity.  (Side note, again: I really should get to reading C.S. Lewis' The Problem of Pain and see what insights he had into the religiousity of pain).  Yes, I know that pain is so often construed as a blessing in the religious sense, but even Jesus' physical suffering was short-lived, and Buddha Gotama at least had a choice in his life.  To have long-lasting terrible pain with no hope of its end apart from death and no choice at all feels both silencing and killing.

At some point, I will have to talk about the death thing in more detail, but it leads to some dark philosophy, which I'm afraid might lead to my institutionalization versus recognition as philosopher.  I should include one of Nietzsche's essays on the benefits of pain as well.

The real trouble is that as much as I can philosophically and theologically believe that there is some good in this pain, I have an ineffable urge to rip it from out me, cast it to the ground, point at it, and call it "enemy!"  Which is ridiculous.  We all have pain.  Insert platitude here.

In any case, I can feel all of these elements eating away at me-- the pain, the depression, the faithlessness, and the exhaustion.  So much of me wants to enter the "academy" to speak to these issues autoethnographically (it is one thing to speak of pain, another to live it constantly), but oh how the pain likes to taunt.  How can I consider pain deeply while the pain itself distracts the mind?  The physical is such a powerful space.

Well, I will get back to this later, and actually bring in some of the thoughts I've only mentioned from far greater minds than my own.  Just received Woolfe's On Being Ill from the library, which should talk about her migraines and depression, I think.  It's short, so I'm expecting to read it soon and tie her sufferings in to all of this. 

As said, I am exhausted, and will now sleep.  Sorry for the thousand tangents.  I'm not unconvinced it isn't consistent with sister speak :)