There are days when the pain gets so far out of hand that nothing works. No amount of painkillers, no muscle relaxers, no Xanax. Heating pads, ice packs. Even a giant dog snuggled up beside the couch is no comfort.
Those are the days I pray for death.
I used to say those prayers quietly, so they wouldn’t disturb the people who love me. Those people worry the depression will carry me away and I’ll kill myself one day. What they didn’t realize is they are the only reason I’m here.
So now, when the pain becomes echoing screams inside my head, I tell them, “Kill me.”
And they softly answer, “No.”
And I tell them, “You’re being so selfish.”
And they say, “We know.”
And still, I am