Seeking Relief

Pain. That’s all her world seemed to be. Pain. Pain screaming down her bones. Through her body. Through her organs. Her hands are killing her. She can’t even hold things without dropping anything. She started keeping containers that she can quickly pour out of, or she developed the habit to leave it on the counter while she pulls small amounts from it. She’s lost count how many times she’s dropped precious coffee grounds by suddenly dropping the coffee container while she scoops grounds into the filter. It’s so annoying to clean up grounds in the kitchen when you’re crying from being in pain enough as it is. Friends at work dubbed her ‘butterfingers’ and she isn’t trusted to hold anything of importance. She purposely buys her milk in ½ gallon containers for the simple fact that she can pick it up. She’s got a plethora of little tools that help her with daily tasks that little old women have in their kitchens. She gasps on another cry as her abdomen cinches on itself. She buries her face in the couch and gasps out another sob while cuddling her hands to herself. Her doctor had her attend pain management seminars when she broke down sobbing that she couldn’t function anymore. He has her on a basic triptan medicine for her migraines and an anti-inflammatory for her fibromyalgia. She tried to tell him of her suspicions of broken bones from her ex. But he brushed her off. He thinks her pain and the severity of it is all in her head. That she is just being an “emotional attention seeking woman”. She knows she needs a different doctor, but this is the only one that she can afford to pay with cash. Her insurance benefits with her work won’t kick in for another 3 months. She thought she could grit her teeth and deal for the 6 months it’d take, but she’s apparently not as strong as she thought. She was so ecstatic for the job. For her friend circle she developed. For the support group that rallied behind her when she fled her abusive ex. She moved here from Montana following her boyfriend. She thought he was the one, that she was following her future. Oh, was she wrong about that. His anger and lashing out started out small, then his temper and his attacks escalated. He didn’t agree with her getting a job. He was sweet at first, said he made more than enough to support them. She fought him to keep her independence. To her, being employed was one of those main factors to independence. Apparently, when she turned out to not be meek like he wanted, he became determined to break her. Stop! Stop! I’m sorry! You are MINE! You belong to no one, not even yourself. Stop! Don’t. Please don’t, that hurts! AHH! She’s sure that sound that mixes with her screams in her nightmares is the sound of breaking bones. She’s sure where her pain comes from are untreated broken bones. It’s NOT in her head, like her f*****g doctor suggests. God, she needs a new doctor. She did have an ER visit while she was dating Lance. She was hoping she could get some help from the nurse there, she thought they’re supposed to be able to spot abuse a mile away. But instead, Lance stayed in the room and answered half the questions for her. The nurse thought he was being attentive and supportive. She actually praised him for being such wonderful boyfriend. Bringing his girl here in the middle of the night, making sure that she was okay, and then helping her pay the bills.  She ended up successfully getting away from Lance. She got a job, her own place, and a restraining order against him. But not in enough time before he laid more blows on her. A bat to her ribs. A meat tenderizer on her foot. Doors against her hands. And of course, fists to her jaw. With a growl of frustration, she pushed herself to sitting on the couch. GOD. This pain! She limped, with a bit more pronunciation, to her bathroom and dug out her Tylenol. In an after thought, she swiped some left over pain meds, too. Some meds she had kept squirreled away to deal with her migraine pain. Using her glass that she left on the counter from last night, she got water from the faucet. She dumped pills in her hand, tossed them all at once in her mouth, with a swig from the glass and a toss back of her head, she took them all in a big gulp. Limping back out, still clutching the Tylenol bottle, she moved on to the kitchen. She’s decided she can’t deal with this with just stupid breathing technique. She tossed her Tylenol on the couch as she walked by. Grabbing her favorite liquor and her drink mix, she made her favorite drink. She finished, downed half her glass, then filled it up again. She limped back out to the couch. She flipped the radio on to her favorite rock station and picked up her phone. She played a couple rounds of solitaire, then another jolt of pain screamed through her left hand. She dropped her phone, opened the Tylenol bottle and dumped more pills into her hand, with a swig from her mixed drink, she gulped down those pills, too. She knows she’ll have a raging migraine tomorrow, but she’ll have all weekend to mope around from that. She has her Imitrex and sleep meds. Another mixed drink. And another. Now it’s pretty much straight alcohol. More pain. Pain. PAIN. She’s lost count how much of her meds she’s had. She doesn’t know how much she took of the Tylenol. The bottle feels suspiciously light. It’s hard to stay sitting upright on the couch. Oops, she’s sliding off now. After laying on the ground for a bit, she has a passing thought she should get up, close her blinds, and crawl into bed. Oh. The pain is mostly gone now. She smiles as she closes her eyes. Relief. Finally.