I was able to sit and read this evening.
I was able to just sit there and read for several hours, devouring a book of Dresden Files short stories.
Because, for once, I was not in pain.
The way my Willis-Ekbom Disorder manifests is through not just a compulsion to move my legs, but increasing pain in my legs and ankles until I do so. It is typically worse in the evenings. While standing and walking provide some relief, I’ve always had a hard time reading in the car, let alone while walking around.
I think I’ve finally stumbled onto a good routine/treatment plan (I’ll share when I’m more certain of it). It regularly reduces my pain score by several "levels," and sometimes can eliminate it altogether.
This evening was one of those times there was no pain.
This evening was one of the first times in a long time that I’ve been able to relax with a book for any length of time.
So help me, the lack of pain was distractingly noticeable.
I kept waiting for the twitch. For the building pressure like a metal chopstick being shoved through my ankle joint. And it did not come.
Hours later, when it did return, I was immediately, acutely aware of every little twitch, every firing nerve.
I’d grown so used to the pain that it seemed normal. Not hurting seemed strange and odd.
But then when the pain returned, it was really, really hard to ignore it at all.
That’s what happened this evening.
It’s also a metaphor for many kinds of pain in your life. Physical pain, of course, but also mental pain. The pain of bigotry. The pain of being invisible. The pain of being ignored. The pain of being taken for granted. The pain of being exploited.
I want a world where a lack of pain is not unusual. Where pain is not the "normal" state of being.
Both for me physically, and for others metaphorically.