Letter to my pain

Dear Pain,

You’ve been with me for a long time now. Some days you whisper. Other days, you scream. You show up uninvited, and you rarely leave without leaving a mark. I didn’t ask for you. I didn’t want you. But here you are, taking up space in my body and my life.

You’ve changed how I move. How I sleep. How I feel. You’ve taken moments from me — ones I wanted to enjoy, ones I wanted to share with people I love. You’ve made me tired in ways that go deeper than just muscles or bones. You’ve made simple things harder than they should be.

But I’m still here. I get up. I breathe. I keep going.

There are days when I hate you. And there are days when I try to understand you — what you’re trying to tell me, why you’re here. Maybe you’re just a reminder that I’m human, and that I’m still alive. Maybe you’ve taught me patience. Maybe you’ve shown me how strong I really am, even when I feel weak.

I don’t know how long we’ll be together. I’d be lying if I said I’ll miss you when you’re gone. But until then, I will keep fighting for moments of peace, for the ability to move, for joy — even small ones.

You don’t define me. You don’t own me. I’m not giving you all of me.

I still have life. And I still have hope.

Sincerely,

John (Gent)