I feel like my whole body exploding beneath my skin.

Do you remember the evening, when you came home and I didn’t feel well? I was in the kitchen, when the pain nearly struck me down.

For a second or two I lost my body control and the glass of water, held in my right hand, slipped through my fingers and shattered clinking on the floor. You must have been alarmed, because only a few seconds later you were standing in the kitchen, asking me if everything was alright. Honestly, I don’t remember what I answered you, probably something like, “yeah sure, I’m just lacking in concentration” or “I’m getting the flu”. A sentence out of the answer repertoire I have, when I’m asked this question. And than I went to bed, without telling you, that I nearly always feel like getting a flu and I’m never sleeping enough. I went to bed without telling you, that I feel like my whole body is exploding beneath my skin.

Please, do not misunderstand being in pain with being unhappy. I’m a really enthusiastic person. I love my life. I love so many things. And if I laugh with you I’m always honest. I don’t lie to you. It’s possible to be perfectly amused and in pain at the same time. Believe me. Nevertheless there are moments when the battle my body fights inside – and sometimes against me – is too strong to focus on anything else.

I don’t have anything, which could be considered as a serious disease. Over the years I got tested for a lot of things, without ever finding something. And still I’ve been in pain on a (almost) daily basis for years. The pain seemed to wander through my body, and if I had had an amount of time without the aches – at the latest when I started thinking it has been all in my head and it’s over now – it always came back.

I don’t know exactly when, but I stopped talking about it. Maybe because I didn’t want to bore people with the same story over and over. Maybe because I know how the expression of others change. The way they look at you, the way they tell you stories, even the way they laugh with you changes. Maybe because I thought people wouldn’t take me serious anymore. Maybe I didn’t take myself serious anymore. Maybe I thought the pain would go away, if I don’t talk about it. It didn’t.

To be honest I’ve always been that kind of person, who overdoes it with helping others. I’ve always been better solving the problems of other than mine. And I do know how much energy it can take to be always there, to be a good friend, a good beloved, a good listener – even if you not aware of it, somewhen you’re just running out of energy. I’ve been there and it isn’t a matter of you don’t want to listen anymore or don’t want to help, it’s a pure loss of energy – physical and psychical. I fear that I slowly - with every transmission of pain, going from a part of my body to my brain – turn into the others. The ones I always failed to help. I’m afraid of putting someone else through this. I fear being on the other side of the story.

I don’t wan’t somebody to help me. I don’t need somebody to take care of things. I’m pretty good in doing what’s need to be done in my life. I do wish for somebody, who looks at me and just says things are alright, take your time. It feels like light years away, when you’ve been that person. I did never cut the dialog with you - but my answers changed slinking from all I could say to an answer from the repertoire. You probably didn’t notice and that’s totally ok. But who am I going to say that

I feel like my whole body exploding is beneath my skin ?
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