Dear Pain

We’re complicated. This relationship we’ve formed over the years is toxic. But yet I don’t know who I am without you. You’ve molded me in ways I’m yet to discover. My story so intertwined with you, you’re a part of me. A part of me that I love to hate.

And even though we have this mutual understanding, I’m writing you today with a major complaint. Please get your grimy hands off of my friends. See I can take it when it’s me. But I can’t bare to see the ones I love suffer under your thumb. Pressing down on their bodies until I scream for you to stop and beg you to focus on me. Rather me. And it’s not like I don’t think they can take, in fact they would probably take it better than me. I just wish I could save them from it. From the on going agony, the debilitation, the wearing down of a body that fights you until there’s nothing left. You have your fun and you leave a mess. I can’t see them go through that, I won’t. And call me Wonder Woman because I think I can save the world but I’ve got to at least try. I’ve fought you so long that I’ve started to realize it’s an endless fight. I’ve never gotten anywhere really; you’re always by my side, inside. In my back, arms, legs even the places I invite no one to, there you tread with your dirty shoes. So fight for them. No I won’t. I’ll just write you this and try to convince you with my words. A plea. Leave them be. Please. Pain. It’s me.