I have been in constant pain for seven months.


There is something wrong with my back, or my hip, or the interior of my body at large; no one seems able to discern or decide what the cause might be. Persistent aches radiate from the base of my spine up towards my shoulder blades, having recently reached around to my chest, which now often feels tight and somehow misaligned. My right side has a phantom soreness, as if I've been exercising it vigorously, and my legs continuously suffer as I force myself to sit in awkward positions that can alleviate small amounts of pain.


I am in a seemingly-endless state of panic. From my first treatment at a chiropractor's office, to my most recent visits to an orthopedist following a MRI -- I have felt no sense of relief whatsoever, and have spent over $500.00 so far in pointless, ineffective treatments (all of which I suspect have been semi-informed guesses on the part of my doctors). As of this week, I was told to return to my general practioner in order to have a basic physical checkup completed. Apparently, despite refusing to prescribe pain medication while ardently insisting that the problem was minor and without need for surgical or chemical intervention, my orthopedist has finally thrown up his hands and admitted to being baffled. Again, this was after X-Rays, MRI, over a month's worth of chiropractor visits and four weeks of physical therapy -- all of which did nothing to help. Nothing.


I feel as though I am going to be ill whenever the pain runs screaming through my torso and lower body. It's like being charged with an electric current that is somehow sentient, and also actively hates you. It is omnipresent, only taking its leave after I've been laying down for several minutes, and then rearing its ugly head immediately once more after I stand. I am so terrified that this pain will never go away that thinking about the future makes me break out in a nervous sweat, which inevitably is produced from my underarms. It's almost as if my body is trying to embarrass me for not being able to cope. The state of mind it has left me in is incredibly volatile. I am prone to irrational bouts of rage, usually followed by deep, harrowing despair which, somehow, never culminates in tears. I feel as though I would breath a little easier were I able to cry, but that's harder now than it's ever been. Often, I feel as though I'm being punished for something, despite this being totally out of line with how I see existence. There is no cosmic force that punishes the weak or the cruel, and if there were, I truly could not even begin to imagine what the hell I did to piss it off.


I worry that I'm going to hurt myself soon. More and more, I return home after work so downtrodden and full of hatred for myself, my body and my life, that I begin to scream at no one and thrash about my apartment; doing my best to direct my fists towards things that will not break or leave evidence of my tantrum. I am incapable of feeling excited about anything, because my thoughts are constantly consumed by what might be wrong with me. I have tried to alter my life to accommodate it, but nothing aids me besides alcohol. Thankfully, my stomach is far too weak for me to become a genuine alcoholic. If it weren't, I would likely be one already.


I'm so scared. I can't live life this way for much longer. Thinking of all of the actual suffering that plagues the world; I feel like such a weak and fragile little Westerner, who has no idea what pain can truly be. But I can't help my fear. I can't help how addled my thoughts are, and how helpless I feel. I grow more and more frustrated as I spend my money visiting medical professionals who insist that nothing is seriously wrong, all the while providing no solutions whatsoever and refusing to, at the very least, offer some medication that might allow me to feel normal again for the first time in over half a year. I don't remember what it feels like to be without this pain anymore. I can't remember the last time I felt good where I wasn't stoned or drunk. I've been unhappy for so many years; I didn't have much patience to start with, and it's wearing very thin. I'm terrified. I don't think anyone can help, and if I'm not able to lessen the pain in some way, I feel more and more certain that I will turn to some sort of harder drug, or, that I will wind up finally gaining the desperate fortitude needed to end my own life.


I don't know what else to do, or who to seek out, or how to help myself. I am hardly able to write anymore because sitting in computer chairs is utter torture, which is unfortunate, because I work eight hours a day in an office where I have no choice about where I am or what I'm doing. I am so infuriated by, and disillusioned with, the medical industry thanks to my experiences. The money I've spent, having so little to begin with, and none of it has gone towards anything affective. The time spent waiting in rooms filled with old magazines and eggshell white, the doctors never once seeing me at the time we agreed upon, only to rush me out the door as quickly as possible while sounding so smug and assured about their vague, shot-in-the-dark diagnoses.


I want my fucking money and time back, and will never receive either.


I want medicine or treatments that can, artificially or not, reduce or remove my pain, and will never receive any.


If I am doomed to be in endless, panic-stricken misery for the rest of my life, then I will take control in the only manner I have been allowed. I will find a way to make the pain stop.


And if my family or friends insist that I am to remain here and suffer so that they may be spared sorrow at my loss, then I will have to accept that I must be selfish. I will have to reassure myself that I will hear no anguished cries from my peers or my loved ones. Once gone, maybe they'll realize they were selfish for trying to make me stay. Because if I'm able to lay myself to rest, I will feel no guilt, nor anguish.


I will feel no pain at all.

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