Do I know your pain?

I know when you are hurting because you make it really clear. You tell me what is painfull and you groan so I can hear. When you hurt I ask 'are you coping?' Your response depends on the pain. Sometimes you need reassuring, Other times you'll say 'It's insane!' I react with care and compassion, offer meds, a massage, just an ear. My empathy is always welcomed, at least you seem grateful that I am near. When you hurt you get rather abbrasive; pain affects how you act, what you do. It gets into your head and your thinking and makes it difficult for you to be true. When you hurt no one else's pain matters; and your pain wants to take centre stage. If I dare tell that I'm also hurting, you lash out at me, reacting with rage. My pain has no room in those moments No right to be noticed or exist. It feels like the ultimate rejection So I bite down and clench hard my fist. Beacause I know you are hurting; you always make sure that I know, and I know it's not 'you' in there talking, I breathe, try to make my heart slow. You also know when I am hurting because I hurt nearly all of the time Yet mostly, you don't hear me telling; I am silent, don't whinge and don't whine. My pain, it is hidden, not glaring. No cause has been found, it's unknown. The evidence, well that's simply lacking No proof but the expressions shown. Your pain, that's different, I see that. It comes, stays a while then it's gone. If it lingers for more than a day then you know that something is wrong. The cause of your pains are apparent; overstretching, a bump or a cut. Evidence of your pain quite revealing - swollen limbs, a bruise or bloated gut. You think I am constantly moaning. You've said so, and not in a dream. You don't notice that mostly I'm quiet even though I could easily scream. When I hurt and it's much worse than usual, I'll say to you, 'darling, it's bad'. You respond with contempt, indignation and tell me to stop looking so sad. You say that you don't want to hear it; Not in words, but in every other way. Your tone and your body speak clearly I hear, loud and clear, what they say. When it's bad, I can feel rather useless. Sometimes I'll play house, all the same. My frustration can spill out as anger when I feel that I'm losing the game. But then you react with aggression 'What's up with you, slamming around?' I think that the next time I fall down, I'll just stay there, flat out, on the ground. Pain, I think, needs some expression, without that it gets much, much worse. But stuck between rocks and a hard place, your reactions are worse than a curse. Supressing my hurt is so painful - much more than I think I can bear. Expressing my pain, though, that harms us - splitting us through wear and tear. I wish that you could be more thoughtful, and show me you care, that I'm loved. But like many times in my lifetime, I really feel I'm being shoved. I'm used to my voice being silenced, my feelings ignored, by the by. My pain, I am learning, is equal; ask about it, then I should just lie. I will try and I'll try to be silent, continue to fight back the tears. At least that way it's only me hurting, have to make sure that nobody hears. I wish also that I could be stronger, impervious to any attack. Happy as a sandboy on pay day, nothing capable of setting me back. But pain is my loyal companion, in my body, my soul and my mind. Nothing I do or you do will fix me, until I can leave this world behind.