The Poltergeist

(And no, my house isn’t haunted)

I’ve been searching for a way to explain my chest pain. I mean, I can just say,

It hurts, a lot.

but that’s no fun, is it?

If you’ve seen me in person, you’ve probably seen me hurting. Seen me wheezing, seen me clutching my heart, seen me in an awkward hunch (because it hurts to bend too far forward or backward), seen me frantically reaching for my Tylenols.

It’s like a poltergeist messing with me.

On the day I got my PE, a poltergeist stuck a spear into my chest. And it never deigned to take it out. It’s just stuck there, a spear that I can’t see but can feel. I almost forgot about it, because for the next six months or so I was given analgesics or I was unconsciously self-medicating.

Then I was on break and thought, I don’t need these so much. So I took myself off the drugs. That, combined with all the physical stress I had been putting off, came crashing down into this chronic thing I feel today.

That winter, the poltergeist had a fifty-fifty chance of coming on any given day. I would be skype-ing my guildies (Discord wasn’t quite a thing yet) and then would wheeze into the mic. My exes would know what to do when I started to double over or stumble: grab the blue pill bottle, grab water, make her drink. I would be exercising at home — then lie down paralyzed. I stopped taking long trips out and would rather be escorted to outings.

Now, new meds and a new diagnosis lessened how frequently the poltergeist comes to haunt me, but it’s more about the unpredictability. I can’t know when it’s coming, nor why I attract its attention. I hate not knowing. I hate not being able to protect myself.