If hospitals cure then prisons must bring their pain

I planned to write a positive, inspiring entry yesterday, but it didn’t happen and now all I can find to write about is pain.

I’ve tried putting a positive face on the past week; tried making the most of forced resting by catching up on movies and books. I just can’t keep that false smile on my face any more. I’m in pain, it’s fucking horrible, and nobody understands. Nobody close to me, anyway.

Mum understands the physical pain as she has fibromyalgia also, but she doesn’t understand the pain from isolation and judgement. She doesn’t feel the need to socialise and live life like I do.

S understands that I’m in pain, but he doesn’t know how it feels. He’s incredibly sympathetic and helpful, but I can’t help thinking that he’ll leave me. I’m such a burden.

Right now, I have stabbing pains in my chest which make me feel sick every time I breathe, shooting pains down my leg, and burning in my backside. I can’t stand for more than a minute without needing to fall over. I can’t sit. Can’t lie down. Can’t get off the toilet without hurting myself. Can’t sneeze without extreme pain in my lower back. This has gone on for over a week now, and I’m ready to lie down on the floor and cry until I can’t cry any more.

I feel useless.

As usual.

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