Faint

When I was fifteen, I fell and hurt my leg.

I remember the waiting room at the emergency clinic.

I remember the way my hearing started to fade like cotton was being shoved in my ears.

I remember my heart pounding in my chest.

I remember the world fading at the edges into a soft black curtain that wanted to fall over my eyes.

I remember almost passing out from the pain.

When I was nineteen, I had surgery.

I remember being in the shower in pure agony.

I remember the shower feeling too small.

I remember the way my hearing started to fade like the world around me was whispering.

I remember my heart pounding in my chest.

I remember the world fading at the edges into a soft black blanket that wanted to pull me in.

I remember almost passing out from the pain.

Our bodies are programed to do whatever it takes to get oxygen to our brains.

To keep us breathing through the pain.

To keep us alive in a crisis.

And the ache in my chest now feels so overwhelming, so consuming, that I wonder when the world will start to fade again. 

I wonder when the sounds will become muffled and the world will soften into something dark and warm.

I wonder when I will pass out from this bone deep pain that tears me apart day in and day out.