There is an expectation when writing about pain you will weaving a silver lining a lesson you have learnt a new perspective on the world. And there is a time and a place for that but this is not it. This is a post about loss.
On the surface my condition may seem do have little to do with with loss. but coming to terms with a chronic pain condition has a lot in common with losing a friend or relative close to you. There is a similar grieving process. In this case, it’s yourself you have lost.
I have lost who i was. This is not due to carelessness or lack of adaptation. This is not because i couldn’t mentally adjust my new situation. This is because where i am now many things that would have defined me are now impossible. So what have i lost? Other than myself of course.
I have lost more than books. I have lost plans, dreams, friends, skills, talents, dignity, interests, hobbies. I have lost books. I am surrounded by books I will never be able to read. The pages are agony to turn. The books inflict pain if i hold them.
This is not a happy ending story. I am not your inspiring motivation tale. I have lost so much more than I can bear to think about and this is hard.