I could not go to work today.

            It is not anything new. It is not surprising. Each day I wake with pain and gauge how much I can handle. Often, it is rocks against my shoulders, glass mixed inside my intestines. Or it is hot irons, molten shards of metal, daggers, demons. It is hard to recognize my body is not like every else’s. It is hard to find myself curled in bed for hours, wondering if the pain will fade. It is hard to understand that pain is part of my life.

            Over the last year, I have been dealing with growing chronic pain. But when I think of it, perhaps the last year has only been when I noticed it. When I saw it for what it was. When I learned constant agony was not normal. Functional dyspepsia, dairy and gluten allergies, my ankles, my sternum, my back. New to the list are my hands and wrists. It feels, often, like the world around is beginning to darken, and the only light I can discover is writing, pushing the shadows away, repeating my mantra: My body is mine, and I will love it where it’s at. It is better than hating myself. I know I must learn to accept these aches, accept that each day is a roll of the dice. Will the pain keep me bedridden? Or can I ‘soldier on?’

            Today I could not.