Pain, Physical, Mental

My joint pain is through the roof. I'm lying in bed with tears running down my cheeks and into my ears. It hurts to fold my elbows to hold my cell phone to type this. My knees hurt. My hips hurt. Feet. Hands. I hope I've got an infected tooth, which also hurts, because of that isn't it, there is no answer. It's back and won't be leaving until it decides, since I've used every psoriatic arthritis drug known to mankind without any change. 

I could have this again for an unknown length of time. A day. A month. A year. A decade. 

I've sobbed alone in the dark. 

I feel like I have to now. 

I got lead astray this year. Fool that I was. People seemed to want to know more about me, what I was facing. So I opened up further, cried more than I have in a decade. Let it be seen, the depths of the wounds. 

I got told I was an emotional desert. I think they meant flood, because desert doesn't make sense. 

I replied, I don't have to cry. 

So I won't. Never again around those people. Because what I thought was there...was not. 

Be less. That is what I am told over and over again. Be less. 

I haven't cried in so long. I couldn't cry around my ex at all. And then if I cried it made me sick. I didn't cry about Dad's death because I couldn't. 

And then get counseling, everyone said. So I did that...and spent six months being torn down and told to give up on life. Talk about adding more to the medical PTSD. I never want to do counseling again. 

And I wasn't allowed to cry then, either. 

So I cry alone in the dark. 

Be less. Because no one likes you if you are you.