The numeric rating scale is the most common and universally used pain scale around the world. And there‘s a good reason why medical staff in hospitals will ask their patients to rate their pain on a scale from 1 to 10 when they come in, it’s so that they can assess the severity of each individual case. Some people have a higher pain tolerance than others, therefore they will tolerate more before seeking help. What one person would categorize as a 7 on the pain scale, another might determine as a 2. No experience is the same, on the contrary, pain is deeply personal and subjective.

I, like many others on this earth, don’t look forward to feeling pain. If anything I actually dreaded feeling this way after the last time and actively avoided any situation that could put me in a vulnerable position. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for vulnerability in friendships, in love, and every other aspect of life but over time I’ve become more careful with my heart. The risk that comes with being vunerable just didn’t seem worth it. In retrospect, I know that I was wrong in believing that but the pain I felt back then was unlike anything I had ever known before. I lost myself in someone. It felt like I was drowning. The current was pulling me under and as much as I tried (and I did try with all my might) I just couldn’t get back to the surface. There was a time when I was convinced that things would stay this way. But after darkness there always comes light and sometimes you just have to be patient. I fought my way back to myself somehow but it wasn’t easy.

The fear of falling

So every once in a while, when tension starts to build and things feel too intense, my nervous system freezes, unable to decide whether to act on those feelings or to pull back. When my friends ask me about my fear of opening up, the struggle of wanting intimacy but fearing losing myself to someone again, I always tell them: „When it’s the right person, it won’t matter because I’ll know the person will be worth the risk.“

I don’t know why it had to be you, and honestly it would’ve been a lot easier if it had been someone else but to me you certainly were worth the risk. Even now, even though it’s over already. Your presence in my 20 square meter apartment still haunts me, it’s all-consuming. Like a wind breeze in spring sweeping through the cracks of an old house, you don’t know where it’s coming from but you can feel it no matter the time of day. I’ve changed my bedsheets, removed every trace of you with my cheap laundry detergent and the fabric softener I use on my dirty laundry. I was hoping it would erase the memory of us as thoroughly as a crime scene cleaner scrubs the blood stains from old carpets. Now I know, that I may have overestimated the ability of my laundry detergent, I was asking too much of it.

The pink toothbrush you used that night is still sitting on the sink next to mine and even though I know you won’t use it ever again, I can’t bear to throw it away just yet. Maybe next week, or the one after that. The groceries I bought for our breakfast are still in my fridge, occupying space that could be used up by the things I usually buy. Now I sit alone on my round Ikea table, that I spray-painted in a light lilac color a while back, eating the things I bought for us. I’ve been sleeping in the middle of my bed, attempting to reclaim the space, because now I know which side you prefer and I would leave it to you in a heartbeat if you asked.

If we had 24 more hours I’d tell you everything I was too afraid to say before. I’d kiss you again, I’d kiss you more deeply, I’d kiss you longer, ignoring the urge to come up for air until our lungs felt completely empty. I would stay in bed with you longer, turning off all the alarms you’ve set to get up on time, even the ones you’d set to get up in time. I’d run my fingers through your hair once more and trace your lips, so that I couldn’t forget the shape of your face. I’d stare into your eyes a bit longer, trying to find the right shade of color to describe them. I’d kiss every inch of your body, making sure I didn’t miss the ones you like a little bit less than the others.

Time heals all wounds they say. But you only left yesterday and right now it feels like I’m drowning in pain. I knew it was coming long before it happened, I thought I was prepared but can you ever really prepared for something like this? Your words hit me like a wave crashing onto the shore in winter, unapollogetically cold and with full force. I thought we had more time, or maybe I was trying to convince myself we did. I wanted to believe it and I would’ve given anything for one more night with you because being with you felt like jumping into cold water on a hot summer day. I wasn’t drowning anymore, on the contrary.

A while back I read a fairly short but impactful book with the title „If Cats Disappeared From The World“. In the book the devil asks a dying man which worldly possesions he’d give up in exchange for more time. Tasked with making that choice every few days again and again the man starts considering the consequences of his choices, trying to anticipate the effects his sometimes seemingly trivial decisions would have on his everyday life. While the plot of the book isn’t necessarily suspenseful or one written in a unique style, it asks two important questions: „What would you do differently if you knew you only had a certain amount of time left on this earth and which of your possessions make your life worth living?“ For me it put things into perspective, because some things are worth the pain. Some experiences, some moments I’d rather have lived and felt fully rather than restricting myself to the ones without the risk of getting hurt.

There will come a time, when I finally feel ready to throw away the pink toothbrush that still lingers in my bathroom and might be the only evidence left of what happend between us. The food in my fridge will expire and I’ll be forced to throw it out soon before it contaminates the rest of the groceries. Every other trace of you will remain in my apartment and slowly but surely collect some dust and fade in with everything else in my room. The memories however, will stay with me and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Why do we think of pain as something negative?

The word „pain“ has a negative connotation. Rightfully so. No one likes to be in pain, however we all experience it throughout our lifetimes. Emotional pain can be a necessary evil, a reminder to feel every positive emotion intensely: happiness, excitement, fearlessness, joy, gratitude, hope, contentment, etc.  Without feeling pain every once in a while, we wouldn’t be able to recognize positive emotions because we’d have nothing to compare them to. We’d just get accustomed to feeling this way and take it for granted.

I have no regrets. If anything I’d gladly feel this pain again if we were to do it all over again. I’d jump in just as excitedly, without wasting a second thought, worrying about what would come of it or how it would end. I’d enjoy every moment to the fullest, all while knowing we had an expiration date. The water wouldn’t feel threatening, it would feel calm, safe and somehow familiar. And when the moment came to pull myself out of it, I’d know how to. Because I managed to do it before and some people are worth jumping into the cold water for, even when you know it will end someday.

Text: Dandara Ribeiro