Over the Edge

Pain pushes me over the edge. I do not go without a fight, but Pain is overpowering.  She pries my fingers, bloodied from grasping reeds along the banks, and breaks my grip.  Pain is merciless.  Dragging me, on bruised knees, bent in prayer.  Relentless.  Pushing my head under water to quiet my screams.  She does not rest.  Or let me either.   Working through night watches, crashing against me, again and again, does not care how long it takes.  Pain is not satisfied.  Until she pushes me over the edge.  Stands at the top, looking down on my descent, she wipes her brow.  And smiles.  Her work is done.  For now.

 As I free fall, no control.  Plunging deep.  Where I am tumbled and rolled over again and again head over heal so that I do not know which way is up.

Pain is not easy to express.  It's hard to find words to describe Pain and her effect on me.  She runs around in my brain, elusive, and chasing her exhausts me.  Often I give up and decide to numb out and leave her there, hiding.  But she screams and will not be ignored.  The longer I leave her, the deeper she goes.  Shards of glass under skin, healed over, with time.  I do not want to slice skin.  Sometimes I think, what's the point?  Because it hurts.  But glass splinters rub raw... and fester.  With Bitterness.  Resentment.  And Contempt.  

Pain is not easy to hear.  She does not fit in my ears.  So I cover them.  And run away.  Or vacuum with white noise.  To avoid her.  But she hunts me down.  Explodes.  Grenades.  Of rage.  Hostile silence.  And then death, of hope. Of healing.

I do not like Pain.  I don't like talking about her and I don't like listening to her.  And I especially don't like what she does to me.  She is unbearable.  She is.  Baring Pain.  Pushing me over the edge.  Every time.

PAIN. IS. NOT. EASY. TO. EXPRESS. PAIN. IS. NOT. EASY. TO. HEAR.  Because Pain and language don't fit.  Why am I surprised by this every time?  Pain and Humans, we don't fit.  And we continually forget that we don't.  And we keep trying.  But it's no use, because we don't fit.  Together.  We pierce.  Ears. And we cut.  Hair.  We Break.  Dishes.  We Slam.  Doors.  We Punch.  Walls.  Because my family is not always able, I am not always capable, of expressing.  Pain.  That doesn't fit.  Inside brains and bodies and hearts and souls.  And sometimes.  We need.  Wine.  And shopping.  And binging.  To help us.  Because sometimes those things do.  Help us.  With Pain that does not fit.  In our family.  And sometimes, we have to go easy on one another.  Because what we are doing is impossible, here, in the Land of the Living.  We are being pushed over the edge.  All the time.  By Pain.  And it hurts.

What I've learned and what I am continually learning is that I am thankful that we don't fit.  That we, Pain and me, and Pain and my family, we don't belong... together.  I have come to understand that's a good thing.  Who would want to fit with Pain?  It means that something is wrong and why would we want to fit with something that means there's something wrong?   I have also learned and am continually learning that I am thankful we resist Pain.  That our knuckles are bloodied and our knees are bruised and we keep trying to scream even under the water and we encounter Fear.  And Anger.  

Pain doesn't belong with us.  She never did. I'm grateful it's so difficult to fit Pain inside my brain and my body and my heart and my soul because I was not created to fit with, or belong together, with Pain.  I understand more and more every day why Pain makes me and my family so exhausted and tense and numb.  So I can go easier on myself, and my family, and others around us when Pain is not handled well.  Because it's not how it's supposed to be.  Something went wrong and Pain is not supposed to be here because Pain doesn't belong.  Anywhere inside of us. Anywhere.  In the Land of the Living.  But.  PAIN.  IS.  HERE.

We are both here.  We are.  Both of us.  I am here.  And so is Pain.  And I have to learn, and keep learning.  And then remember, because I always forget.  I do.  Every time.  I have to learn.  How to deal with Pain.  Because Pain is here and she is not going anywhere.  And neither am I.  We are both here to stay in the Land of the Living.  For a while.

So when I remember.  I think of Pain as a person.  So that I can express what she looks like and feels like and sounds like.  So I can better relate what she is doing inside my brain and my body and my heart and my soul. And I use things and every day life experiences to describe how it feels.  When Pain is inside my brain and body and heart and soul, where she doesn't belong.  So that I am not so afraid. Of Pain.  And I am afraid.  Because of Fear.  (He tells me to run and hide from Pain.)  So that I am not so angry.  And I am angry. Because of Anger.  (He tells me to fight.)  Until I remember.  That I don't have to be so afraid and I need not be so angry.  So angry all the time.  I can relate and deal with what I understand.  And thinking of Pain as a person and how what she does to me as things that exist in this world... It helps me make language fit with Pain and how Pain makes me feel.  I can't fit with Pain.  But language can.   

And once we share a common language.  Pain and me.  Then Pain can be to me more than a person.  She can even be a friend.  Who comes to visit.  To let me know that something is wrong and it needs attention.  Which is why she keeps screaming so loudly and keeps me up at night. So that I will just LISTEN!!!! If I will face down Fear until he runs (and he will - always run, because Fear... is afraid). And if I will lean in.  Refusing to let Anger blow me off track with grenades (and Anger will back down every time because he's not as tough as he acts.  Anger is a baby in diapers playing king of a hill that is not his.)  If I will lean in and listen, I will hear, in our common language, words that express what she has come to say, so that she is released.  To go.  For now.  If I will turn into and not away from Pain, she will help me.  Guide me.  Lead me.  To the source.  The reason for her visit.  A wound.  In need of healing.  She just wants me to know.  That's all.  There's a wound.  In need of healing.  And it's her job to let me know.  She's doing her job.  Here.  In the Land of the Living.  If only we would learn to listen.  To Pain.  She's so loud.  And getting louder.  Don't you hear her?  So loud.  Don't you see her?  All around?  Because she must.  Do.  Her.  Job.  If we would just sit.  With her.  And listen.  She could go away.  That's what she wants.  To be heard.  To be understood.  To be done.  With her job.  Released.  So she can go away.  For a while.

Pain.  The kind that strips me and leaves me in the river, naked.  Grasping at the weeds on the banks.  Baring Pain.  I can trust.  That if I forget to lean in and listen and express how she makes me feel so that she is released, and that even if I refuse to follow her so she can help me find the reason she is here.... I can trust.  Baring Pain will be there.  Breaking my bloody grip.  Dragging me on bruised knees bent in prayer.  Pushing my head under water that quiets my screams.  Past Fear.  Through Anger.  Over the edge.  To fall.  Free.  Tumbling me again and again until I'm clean, head over heal until I am healed.  In raging waters that make me lose all sense of direction.  That I might change.  Direction.  In currents moving me closer.  To gentle pools that lie, still, by green pastures.  Of Growth.  Resiliency.  And dreams.  Where Hope lives.  

So I am learning.  Every day.  And all the time forgetting.  And it's okay, because this is really hard.  But sometimes, on good days, I am reminded.  That when Pain comes.  Baring Pain.

Lean in.  

Listen. 

Follow.   

Even when I'm scared and I am scared all the time.  Even when I am angry and I am sometimes angry all the time.  And I am ok.  Standing at the edge.  With Fear.  With Anger.  And With Pain.  I can trust.  Pain to do her work if I will let her.  And even if I won't.  When I am pushed.  Over the edge.

So that I don't need her anymore.  And she can stand at the top, look down on my descent, wipe her brow.  And smile.  As she is released.  Her work done.  For now.  And she will turn and go away.  For a while.

Yes, Pain.  Baring Pain.  Pushes me over the edge.  That I might see.  My reflection. In the deep blue beautiful waters. Staring back at me... Baring Beauty.  Is not me.  Baring Beauty.  Who is with me.  All the time.   

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