I surrender it to god, knowing that the pain itself is a product or a reflection of how i am interpreting whatever it is that is causing me pain. some pain is simply the normal grief of human existence. that is pain that i try to make room for. i honor my grief. i try to be kinder to myself. i give myself time to move through and to process whatever is making me sad.
If you muster that courage to stand under fire and not go down, you will amass an inner strength that no one can touch. you won’t be another faceless, nameless, forgotten human in a long historical line of the defeated. you will be a steeled warrior, and a force to be forever reckoned with. and beneath the pain that lingers, you will have the comfort of knowing that you are strongest of all. that when others caved and broke, you kept fighting even against hopeless odds. - caleb
Let go," he advised me, and i loosened my grip on his hands. "no, not of me," he said, smiling. "you can hold on to me as long as you want. Let go of the pain, sookie. Let go. You need to drift away." it was the first time i had relinquished my will to someone else. As i looked at him, it became easy, and i retreated from the suffering and uncertainty of this strange place.
No themes are so human as those that reflect for us, out of the confusion of life, the close connection of bliss and bale, of the things that help with the things that hurt, so dangling before us forever that bright hard medal, of so strange an alloy, one face of which is somebody's right and ease and the other somebody's pain and wrong.
You can't remove that layer of pain by just saying, "okay, i'm not going to wallow in it." the only way to remove that layer of pain is to face what it says and to recognize it as the look in the mirror that it is, reflecting the things you did that you wish you hadn't done and the things you didn't do that you wish you had done.
And i know you've spent a lifetime trying to protect me from the staggering pain of grief that comes from losing the things and the people and the places you allowed yourself to care about--but guess what, jennika--that's no way to live. as much as it hurts to lose something you love, there's much greater joy in getting to experience it for as long as it lasts.
I wonder if any of them can tell from just looking at me that all i am is the sum total of my pain, a raw woundedness so extreme that it might be terminal. It might be terminal velocity, the speed of the sound of a girl falling down to a place from where she can't be retrieved. What if i am stuck down here for good?
For pain words are lacking. there should be cries, cracks, fissures, whiteness passing over chintz covers, interference with the sense of time, of space ; the sense also of extreme fixity in passing objects ; and sounds very remote and then very close ; flesh being gashed and blood sparting, a joint suddenly twisted - beneath all of which appears something very important, yet remote, to be just held in solitude. — virginia woolf, the waves
I didn’t get her cutting at all. she’d done it sporadically, ever since the accident and it scared me each time. she'd try to explain it to me, how she didn't want to die—she just needed to get it out somehow. she felt so much emotionally, she would say, that a physical outlet—physical pain—was the only way to make the internal pain go away. it was the only way she could control it.