I like to imagine that all of the pain I have in my back is a build up of things I have never said. As if everything I held inside of me got pulled out of my mind, out of my heart, and wadded up between my shoulder blades.
I threw out my back four years ago for a sport I loved. Back pain has been a big part of my high-school years because of some of the side affects of the pain killer I take. I've always had to alter things to make them less painful for my back: the way I walk, the way I stand, the way I sleep, the way I face the day. I have my way of doing those things now, and although it is not the normal way, it seems to work for me.
Tonight, my back is feeling especially tight. But I'm so used to it throbbing that I wouldn't know how to stand another way.
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