Sullen, miserable, and bleeding

I hurt my foot at Tita Beth's today.

The pain was pretty bad, but since everyone was having a nice time I didn't want to make a fuss. So it wasn't until 20 minutes later that I noticed that my my little doe was bleeding and had a little blood clotted on the wound.

Not a pretty sight, but the whole situation can be taken as a symbol of my life.

I hate saying "I hurt".

I whine about it, I bitch about it, sometimes I even like being fussed over, but I never really got to the point where I told people that "I hurt". Pain was a sign of weakness, something one should never expose, lest you are taken advantage of.

The one time that I did say I was hurt, all hell had broken lose around me and no one could understand where I was.

I used to describe those times during my depression as falling through a hole.

I fell down a hole that was not too deep, but high enough for me to not to get out of. It was pretty small, a crevice in a rock, so there was very little sunlight pouring in. But it was always sunlight, and it was always day.

I always saw the daylight streaming in.

There were dozen of hands reaching in, trying very hard to come get me. But their hands were rough, and their efforts hurt. They pulled too hard, and because of that I didn't want to come out.

I just wanted them to stay away.

A year later, I tried climbing out of that whole, and i've been on my way out ever since.

But I still can't say that "I hurt".