I was up all night last night. The pain was excruciating, and it took all my strength to not cry out and wake up my wife and child. This morning it's a little better, but not by much. Today is the day that I'm to be interviewed by a reporter. Maybe God wants me to do this in the hospital? If things keep going the way they are, that's where we'll be.
This interview is like a first day of triumph; a small dent in ignorance and gross mistreatment. If I can reach just one person with this article, and help them understand what people with RSD go through, I will have succeeded. Because it only takes one person to change the future of our veterans. One phone call, one letter. One. Because if one person does it, I know there will be others, others that will add to the one voice.
I'm going to take my meds and work on some poetry. Writing has been a fantastic coping mechanism. I've lost a bit of my urge to game, and have found that it isn't helping as much in regards to my pain management. I just haven't been able to get myself immersed enough. Immersed, and away from this daily nightmare.
I'm really having a bad time. It's hard to admit it, but I'm worn thin. This isn't a plea for help, I'm not going to kill myself (I have no urge to do so), but I feel like simply sleeping my days away. Except, I can't sleep...
It's good that I can't sleep. Today is the first day...
