8-hurts a whole lot

When you are at the doctor's they ask you to rate your pain.
Tonight, the hormonal emotion filled dam inside of me would've said 8.

Tonight they made fun of how quietly I counted when it was my turn in the game

Of the fact that counting from 1 to 10 never sounded so painful

And oh boy

If only they knew how it felt.

It felt like an 8.

It hurt a whole lot. 

The thing about tears is, they demand to be noticed.

And if you don’t let them gain attention by falling, they shake your voice in hopes of creating earthquakes in listening ears.

And so a soft number 4 and an almost inaudible number 9 was really all I could manage.

Because being called shy or self-conscious just seems so much easier than emotional or needy.

So when they made fun of my counting I forced a smile.

And laughed with them.

It felt like an 8.

But Forced Smiles and Fake Laughs are beyond sleep deprived

And they’re actually begging for me to tuck them in and just let them sleep.

And as tired as they are,

I think sometimes they forget I’m the one plasters them there

I’m the one who has to strain the lid off the glue and wash the paint brushes every time

And my lid removing arms and glued hands are tired.

But as tired as they are,
I am,

All I can do is stay up late and think

   And cry

                    And write

                                    And laugh

          And wonder

And do anything but sleep

But maybe I shouldn't be sleeping anyways

Maybe I should be practicing counting without my voice wavering.

Practicing telling the doctor I'm feeling nothing but zeroes.

Practicing hiding the way I feel so I don’t ruin anymore games.

Because I’m always the first one to cry at funerals and I was always the first one found in hide-and-seek.

Because I was never very good at hiding.

Because the number 8 I was feeling may as well have been tattooed on my face right next to that fake smile.

But maybe it’s my turn to be the first

The first to leave.

The first to say I don’t care.

The first to count from 1 to 10

And act like 2-9 don’t even phase me.

Like I feel nothing but zeroes

ALL THE TIME

But maybe when you tell the doctor the number you're feeling on the pain scale it also reflects how much of anything you're feeling.

Maybe enough empty "no hurt" zeroes stacked on top of each other would start to look a whole lot like eights. 

But it’s late. And I’m done practicing counting.

I'm done nailing my heart to some scale in some doctor's office.

It’s late and the cooking channel is getting boring.

It’s late and I just finished tucking in Forced Smiles and Fake Laughs

And they told me they’re going to take the day off tomorrow.

It’s late

And

I'm done feeling 8's.

BP