The Understated Trauma

“No. I can’t do it.”

Those words began to haunt me as I tried to explain others of my incapacity of doing any physical activity.

The utterance of my screams wanting to push the pain away, but the pain so eager to stay and cause more insanity to oneself.

“What have I done to be in this state?” I questioned.

I couldn’t bear any of it but still remained positive of the situation.

The -25 weather touching the skin and causing the body to tense up. As a result of this cold weather, the spasms continue to bring havoc of the adored.

“One, two, three,” I counted, but those spasms wouldn’t take notice of my trauma.

So I continued to scream.

All control was lost.

All hopes and dreams, paused.

Once the pain simmered down, I tried to make conversation to a man named Nick.

“I know how this feels my friend, I’ve been there,” he murmured, “tell me, where are you from?”

I couldn’t answer, I thought of answering something more clever to pretend that none of this was happening.

The spasms continue.

“I’m from Nemaska but I live in Toronto,” I said, while trying to contain my posture.

Every inch of bounce, every turn and speed was felt.

The slightest touch kept mocking me. As if the Grinch had stolen my Christmas.

I’m not even a Who.

“Can you turn around?” The nurse asked.

Slowly, but gently. Slowly, but gently.

There it is again. The pain knocking on my door.

Constantly at a rhythm that felt like a person grabbing you and then letting you go.

Nurse instructed ambulance to drive me home and lay me to bed.

“Here’s your medication,” he said.

The spasms have been at a low profile since leaving the house.

But on Christmas Eve, I remain positive and hoping that one day I will walk without fear of falling, without fear of anything.

This will be my Christmas morning.

Walking.

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