Desperate Housecries

A little too stiff for children. Maybe for adults too.


You wrote this. It is your article. It is a class action suit against the pain that blankets you. Pain cannot be written about, but some of you come pretty close. Certain remarks in the surveys give us pause, and can be difficult to pass by, and in the aggregate they are nearly impossible to take. Here is a composite of what it is like with central pain, made up of a cut and paste from survey results. We hope we are not misquoting you, just as we hope we are not cutting you short.. Are you writing when you feel well enough to write, or are you writing when you feel so bad that you are finally motivated?. Judge for yourself whether you can identify with it. We try to write to our readership, but sometimes we want to turn away, because we don’t have anything to say. Here is how we see you, from comments in the survey.

Where does pain come from? Who controls it? What is it? Life is one long shout of hallelujah as they say, but what happened to my hearing., my voice, and my assurance? It is true for certain that I wish I could wear clothing, but as I am, why provide that comfort to the body of pain.

Too morbid to be seen by the public, and too unfamiliar to be recognized by yourself. The psychologists want you to cure yourself with your mind. What mind would that be?

What do niost of you aspire to? To be as well as your doctors think you are. As well as the pharmaceutical firms promise you will be if you take their medications. As well as your spouse expects, as well as your children presume, as well as your mother believes you will be, as well as your minister preaches. But you will disappoint them all. You have severe central pain. Or does severe central pain have you? In the end, all of them will begin to suspect that you are not really one of them. You do not play by the rules. If they only knew.

Sorry to be such a creature. Every time the pain really sets in, you get a little crazy, You have to.

Daytime is when I mourn the burning of the sheets, and nighttime is when I find myself staring into the abyss. I watch the funny movies and smile. Then I feel like a fraud. How did ordinary life become so precious and so impossible to achieve?

Every time I open my mouth, every time I think, I undermine myself and push myself that much further away from who I used to be.. I wish I could never speak, could escape the human race, for I do not feel it. I mostly fake it, I can make myself say or do most things, but I cannot feel it. It is robotic. I am in pain only, not with you.

It is frightening. It is lonely. It is punishing. Fortunately, I am past feeling, except for the pain. Sorry to be so unlike myself. Sorry I cannot hang onto my identity. Sorry I don