The pain in my knee began as all pain does: suddenly, with an unexpected twist that’s become all the more predictable. With it came the grimace and the usual question: “are you okay?”
Am I okay?
I can’t exactly say. Is it okay to become used to hurting? An uninvited guest you couldn’t imagine living without even though you want so badly to be rid of them.
I stood up, a little slow, a little wobbly. The pain weaved its deft hands like a conductor orchestrating a symphony. A cramp near my ribs. A tightness grasping my neck. My hands so stiff it’s as if they’re paralyzed. The act of moving became an exercise in and of itself. A pseudo-workout that concluded with gallons of sweat and buckets more in humiliation.
Once my body loosened itself through the struggled effort of walking, the pain’s song died down to a low tempo, still trembling in my knee. I followed my friend out of the movie theater. They stopped well ahead of me, waiting for me to catch up.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I’d respond. “Peaches, man. Peaches. Though, I may need to use you as a substitute for a crutch if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I limped on their left, my right hand gripping their shoulder tighter than I’d anticipated. Probably uncomfortable for them, but they didn’t strike up any complaints. Fact is, my friend was patient and more importantly, understanding. I don’t rather enjoy acknowledging my own limitations but I’m willing to submit to them if need be.
Sometimes you just have to give in.
See, I was born with Cerebral Palsy. Nothing so drastic as being permanently wheelchair-bound but enough to be labeled. Slap it on my forehead: I am disabled.
Say it on my chest: I am different.
My legs don’t function like they should. Muscles don’t grow or strengthen. I have the appearance of a buff muscleman but the reality is I’m a bit broken.
I tripped on the cement in the parking lot and nearly took my friend down to the abyss with me. They caught me.
“You good?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
They nodded and wrapped my arm around their neck for additional support. Practically lifted me off my feet. I levitated to the car.
The air was frigid and the breaths we exhaled could be seen in puffs. I felt my kneecap pop, crack. The pain shot up my leg so quickly I could only react by groaning sharply. My arms squeezed themselves inward as the freezing temperatures closed in. My friend unlocked the door and I climbed in. Well, fell in, more like.
I couldn’t hide the expression from my face. A natural response to utter helplessness, knowing that nothing could honestly be done. There was no fixing me. But that’s not why there were tears in my eyes.
My friend pulled over minutes later as I sobbed, unbuckled their seatbelt and hugged me. Held me to contain the sadness to shakes instead of erratic convulsions.
“I’m sorry. I’m a burden.”
“No… No, it’s not your fault, Cody.”
And I cried harder. Cried because I was grateful and disappointed and the Pain didn’t stop, it never stops, going and going until the last of my cries had been swallowed by silence.
It wasn’t just my body getting hammered.
It was my soul. This… thing had taken a chisel and chipped me away. Now I’m cracked and there’s a flood. The walls have crumbled to dust and emotions mingled, stirred, spewed and spun like a whirlwind. I didn’t know what I should feel first so I felt them all at once.
The ride home felt longer than it should have been.
My friend asked if I wanted help to get inside when we arrived at my house. I declined their offer, feeling better enough that I could do it on my own. I was right, save for my back. So tight near the lower half that standing straight felt unnatural, like I wasn’t built for it, and with that defect more unnecessary pain.
I slept and didn’t sleep and slept again only to wake three hours later.
Four a.m.
Am I really okay?
I sighed. Massaged my knee gently and arched upward to stretch out my back. It did little to improve the current state of things or dam the constant stream of hurt. So, finally, I decided it was an emergency.
I opened the drawer to the bedside table and pulled out my vaporizing apparatus and the tin. The tin revealed several bags of high-grade marijuana. Using my fingers, I hurriedly grinded some into the vaporizer’s chamber. My fingers shook a little and I stretched them to interrupt their off-beat rhythm. Once the vaporizer was loaded, I pushed the button. Waited for the the optimal temperature and pressed my lips to the mouthpiece.
Slowly, I inhaled.
The vapor was warm and it scratched lightly against my throat. After about ten seconds, I exhaled and felt this calming relaxation spread throughout my entire body. My head was lighter. I inhaled a few more times, letting the marijuana perform its magic.
My body loosened, like a tightly wound ball coming undone. I sat up, smile on my face for the first time in ages. Walked to the kitchen with little issue to grab a glass of water. Gulped it down as if it were the last drink I’d ever have.
I wrote. I read. I slept and nothing took that from me. I was my own person and Pain couldn’t lord over me anymore.
I was free, finding my balance.
