It hurts.
Oh yes… it hurts.
It isn’t muscle pain – no, it doesn’t hurt when I lift things or move things or crouch a certain way – and it isn’t bone pain - I don’t have that flu like aching/throbbing throughout my body.
No.
It’s my skin.
It’s every single layer of every inch of my skin, burning, tearing and screaming with every friction inducing movement.
It doesn’t matter how soft the touch is, how soft the material is, or how cushioned the area is… it hurts. Wearing clothes hurts because they just can’t be soft enough and they slide and pull; laying in bed hurts because there is pressure, soft, cushioned pressure; being touched hurts, even by the softest most loving and well intentioned hands, even just a hand on my shoulder, even my own hand on my own arm or my own fingers through my own hair.
A light hand on my forearm asking if I'm ok brings with it a hot wave of pain through the entirety of the skin between my fingers and elbow, and a sweet kiss on the cheek makes me dizzy with aching and brings tears to my eyes.
The least painful position to be in is standing with my hands resting on the backs of chairs or on a counter top or anywhere but by my side, and the most comfortable thing to be in is the softest blanket I could find, ever so carefully and loosely wrapped around me so that I don’t need to hold it or apply unnecessary pressure to any part of me.
I wonder how I’ll fall asleep tonight.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
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