When you sigh like that, you make me feel as if I'm wasting my time. Your sighs, blank staring, and long silences (only broken by mutterings of "I don't know"), tell me that you don't believe me.
Nothing in this world could ever come close to pissing me off the way disbelief, in my pain, can.
Do you think that I would've caused myself this much hell? For three years I've dealt with this shit. Don't tell me that you think I get a kick out of this. Don't ever let me hear you say that I made it all up. That's a quick way to cause your own murder. This shit is real. Trust me, I've been here long enough to know.
The past three years have been hell. I've experienced so much pain, grinning and bearing it all. I've pushed aside my tears because they're a sign of weakness, and I am not weak!
I've had to battle myself, my real physical pain, every damn day, for the past three years. Every hour. Every day. There are no breaks, just different levels of intensity.
What's so painful? What makes me wish for suicide? Only these few little things:
•eatting
•talking
•smiling
•chewing
•laughing
•crying
•experiencing anger
•experiencing stress
•gritting my teeth
•having my mouth open
•having my mouth closed
I have trouble opening my own fucking mouth, when trying to brush my teeth (when I'm unmedicated), in the mornings. There's no such thing as "Just Be." I can't be singular, all by myself.
No, I'm only capable of achieving "Just Be Living In Pain -- All Day, Everyday, Until Death Do You Part."
A-fucking-men.
Excuse me for copping an attitude whenever you look as me and say that my splint should've taken care of the pain.
Excuse me for knowing my pain in more detail than yourself.
You think that I like my pills. You're quite right, I do. I like my pills because they help control pain that was once uncontrollable. I fucking worship them for that.
I'd love to flush every pill down the toilet, you know. I want to be rid of them. I hate that I measure my days in six hour increments. Every six hours there's something new to take.
Don't look at me with that smug face and tell me that you don't think I'm willing.
Have your jaw stop growing, let it get so fucked up that you can barely stand to open it a centimeter or two. I want you to feel my fucking pain.
Then, come back and tell me how willing you are.
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