It’s Called Pain

It seems like no one takes into account that I do in fact have something wrong with me that causes me to be in severe pain. Even though my mother was once diagnosed with the same problem, had to quit work because of it, etc., she doesn’t take into account that there are some days where I am in so much pain that it hurts to live. On those days, she makes sure to ask me to do as much as possible, like she enjoys seeing me going around the house doing chores in tears. She doesn’t seem to understand that those days are the ones where I pass out in the chair for a reason. She seems to think those are just the days I want to be lazy, when it’s more like those are the days that I’m just trying to survive through the pain.

I still want to get my ears pierced again, but I doubt I’ll be able to convince my mom to let me. I know, it’s ridiculous that a 24-year old has to ask permission to live her life, but if my mom doesn’t approve of a single step I make, she likes to guilt me into feeling so bad about it that it drives me crazy. She is very controlling, moreso than me, which makes me feel like I’m being talked into doing things that I don’t want to do just to appease her. She used to not be so bad, or maybe I was just more easily swayed by the manipulation.

I’m upset with my dad right now as well. I didn’t intend to blog this afternoon. I was just checking my email, when he saw that my chair was open and he decided to steal it. I could try to squeeze around it and get to the couch, but I can’t sit on that couch without extreme amounts of pain. It hurts to be on that couch, though I would never dare tell my parents that. I can’t tell them that the only pieces of furniture that don’t hurt are the ones that they’re in. Why? Well, for one, it wouldn’t matter because they would just tell me I whine about my problems too much.

Why do people always tell me offline that I whine about my problems too much? I don’t. I whine about them online so that I can actually get a chance to express myself. I was told one night that I complain about my love life to two people in particular too much, but I’d never even mentioned it to one of them ever. Instead, I get to hear about everyone else’s thoughts and problems and have mine ignored. It really makes a person feel great about their self-worth when everyone is telling them just how worthless their problems are. I would like the chance to have people in my life care about what’s going on with me, even if nothing was going on. I would just like the opportunity to have someone care. Did I do something to make people not care about me? Do I deserve to have to sit in the backseat of my friend’s car relying on my delusions to keep me company because my actual friends are too busy for me? I hate having to resort to the fantasies, when real people are there.

About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.