Chie Alemán

Update: A version of this post has been published on The Mighty website!

This morning I sat at the kitchen table and cried.

Alone, while my dogs were napping after their breakfasts and my husband was in the shower getting ready for his day.

Those quiet, yet powerful sobs I’d mastered as a child growing up in a household where any show of emotion would be turned and twisted against me.

About a month ago, I wrote about how sleep was my only escape from the relentless pain. I’ve lost that, too. It’s been a couple weeks since the medicine I used to take to help me sleep through each pain-filled night stopped working. Now, no matter what I do, I wake up multiple times a night, in terrible pain, praying to fall asleep again. I usually do after an hour or two, but it never lasts until I’m again ripped awake.

Being in pain all the time was bad enough. Being sleep deprived and exhausted–which, lucky me, also only makes pain worse–feels like winning the FML (fuck my life for those of you who don’t do the acronym thing) gold metal.

So sometimes I sit and cry, in pain, exhausted, and wishing for a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.