I have storms in my head and my soul is in turmoil. My heart weeps and breaks over and over again. The pain is too deep and feels new every day. I wonder how a mortal like me is still standing and breathing and is somehow still functioning? Perhaps I’m immortal?
The head, soul and heart no longer feel like a part of my body. The body has a life of its own, if any. It’s paralysed. I find myself talking to myself in the third person; I talk about me, to me, and then there’s the insurmountable pain joining in on the conversation. I no longer care or have interest in the conversations, it’s like a three way mirror and the body has a life of its own.
It is true that it can change a person. I don’t think any ordinary being can carry it as well as I do. I have given it power and now it carries me. It’s only the immortal who can carry and live with pain of such epic proportions. The anxiety is so great that I sometimes stutter in my self-talks from fear of interrupting the pain and I tremble and find myself at its mercy.
Grace carries the body as its work is to just go with the motions and wake up only to look forward to sleep. Grace whispers to the body every morning, only to face the strangers who have taken over the body, who happens to be me, myself and pain. Grace is patient with me or whatever is left in this flesh.
Every living thing in me is out of sync. Pain is the only constant, its hunger for power makes me wish I was it, the pain itself, because I’m weak and it’s stronger. How did this begin? What invited it? Well, it’s the mortals, those who walk the earth and plant it and await the harvest. I the immortal, reap it instead.
Tell us: Can you relate with how the writer describes pain?