The Pain Threshold

21.03.07

We all have one, evidently. Some are stronger, more flexible and more malleable than others.

We are all now understanding our pain threshold and where its limits lie. And of course, where yours finally ceded.

The manifestation of emotional pain is probably the hardest to understand, because try as we might, we cannot control it. We cannot give a gesture or signal for it to stop and then enjoy some respite from the hurt. It just seems to continue and continue.

I would like for this to be more controllable - a simple switch or gauge so that I could choose those moments carefully, say select a time of day for the John-pain, and not have to always share it at the most inopportune moments with a total stranger, or people that knew you and who really don't need a living reminder of their own pain and loss rambling on down the phone at them.

So there is a kind of pain etiquette being born out of all this:-

By all means have your grief, let it take hold of you, but don't let it get too much of a grip, because in polite society the two week time slot has passed and you really should pull yourself together. It is, dear John, like navigating your way around the South Circular; everything seems somehow familiar, but you're never quite sure that you are going in the right direction, and every time you stop to ask somebody for help, they give you a vague nod or indication and tell you how they got lost here last time and it is all a bit of a nightmare!

Grief is the emotional reaction to the loss of love; and like love in its first incarnations it is really a kind of lunacy, a madness. I understand the concept of those who go mad with grief, those who never recover and those who are transformed by it.

You would not recognise the girl you knew and loved so now: no fun, no spark, no witty retorts, no spontaneous happiness at the smallest of things; no unbridled excitement at the new shoes or the favourite dish for tea, no breathless anticipationof the next call or visit. Nothing. I am running on empty.

I have passed by the first stage of absolute paroxysms of grief and have reached the point of functioning incompetent. You know John, remember we talked about functional illiterates - those with minimal literacy who manage to get on in daily life but really are challenged by all the small tasks of reading and writing that we take for granted - well it's the same for me now. I function, but in an incompetent way: I can make a cup of tea, answer the phone, watch the news, read a newspaper, all without breaking down, but not in a competent way. I guess you would call it just going through the motions. Most of the rest of my time is taken up with thinking about you, engaging in one-way conversations, musing your past and future, trying to fathom how you reached and jumped into the abyss and wondering why on earth you couldn't stay with us. No answers though. Only questions.

Like I said, it is a kind of madness that takes hold.

PADCM