What a Pain

I wrote this piece when a friend asked me to write her something about pain, and this came out. It's a metaphor, which means I'm curious how it will strike you. I realized it could be more interesting if the house was in the style of a giant hamster ball or something, but I don't feel like rewriting it. Oh well. Enjoy. 

***

Pain came into my life like an unwanted guest, slipping in the front door and making himself at home in all my favorite places. I was horrified at first. How dare he? How bold and rude can a person be? 

He was like a vandal whose only motive was to take, break, and tamper with everything that ever meant anything to me. Pain wanted nothing good for me, and soon the house showed his damage all over. I became ashamed that I couldn't get rid of him. Nor could I maintain a peaceful existance with him there. I couldn't sleep at night. Sometimes because he was crashing around. Other times, the thought of what he might do next was enough to ruin my night. 

I told myself I could handle him, but he was more stubborn than I. Eventually I felt outweighed, out-fought, and outdone. I resigned myself to knowing there was no stopping him. 

I didn't want anyone to know how he had wormed his way deep into my mind, changing who I was and wanted to be. As time went on, I don't even want to admit how many plans he'd interrupted. 

He derailed some of my lifelong dreams. I could no longer remember what life had been like before he moved in. Nor could I imagine what life might be like now if he hadn't. I had changed. I lashed out in anger many times. I tried to throw him out, but he always found a way back in. I tried locking him up in a back room, but he always unlocked the doors. I tried to take control, but I never won.

I wanted to clean up after his messes, but I was too exhausted to keep up. I was spiraling out of control. 

One night I found him sitting in my favorite chair. I sat across from him, uncomfortable in my least favorite chair. He looked like he was burning to say something. All my years of frustration settled into one single word. 

"What?" 

"I am not your enemy," He said."In fact I have brought you a gift." 

He said it like a bad actor trying to make an important moment. Then he threw something at me. I caught it, and looked down into my own reflection suspended in my hands. It was a mirror, framed in green plastic. "Oh thanks. Dollar Store? Nice." 

"I noticed you don't have a good mirror here," he said. 

"You broke them all!" I yelled. 

He said, "Yeah, I guess I did. But this one I won't break." 

"Thanks a lot." I said.

Sarcasm was all I had left for him. 

"Do you get it? It's symbolic. I'm here for a reason. I'm here to show you who you are." 

Then he started talking like a man who has suddenly won an audience after years of being ignored. 

"You blame me for everything. I hear what you tell your friends. I read your journal too. I know what you say about me. It's all my fault. The bad guy. How is that fair? Think about it. I mess with your stuff, but I've never touched you. So you tell me - Have I made you stronger or weaker? Have I ruined you? Do I define you? Do I own you? Have I ruined you singlehandedly? Have I stolen your ability to be who you are supposed to be?" 

He was being louder than necessary, just to be dramatic. He went on, "Fine. We don't get along. I don't care about you either. You push me around, hide me, lock me up. Go ahead. I can still take your stuff and break things when you're not looking. In case you hadn't noticed by now, I do what I want. You can't ever get rid of me altogether. Did you even notice that some of the stuff I've gotten rid of was trash you didn't even need? You call it stealing, but some of it I call cleaning." 

As obnoxious and ridiculous as he sounded, I knew there was at least a shred of truth in what he said. I let him ramble late into the night. 

Things were different after that. Though he never went away, I tried to listen when he looked like he had something to say. (Sometimes I failed.) 

Instead of an evil stranger, I gradually began to think of him as a teacher - the kind of teacher you never liked because they were difficult and rude, but you still had to admit you learned from them. 

He never left. We were never completely at peace. I never won control of him. But I did regain some control of myself, and I tried to change my attitude towards him. I even began to talk about my relationship with him with a trusted friend. 

I hoped this meant I had conquered Pain somehow. I had learned to live with him. I had become stronger. I had processed. I had changed my thinking. I was hopeful, until it all came crashing down again. 

Once again, he found a way to flagrantly ruin my day. The epiphany was gone, and I wanted to strangle him all over again. And so I tried. He fought back while shouting, "I'm not your worst enemy and you know it!" 

We struggled, but it didn't take long for me to surrender again: "I know... I know."