Tag Archive | pain

When you over medicate a writer.


I’ve not been feeling well, not well at all. I’ve been coughing and moaning, aching and groaning, all for great and good reason of course, I am sick. And tired. And sick and tired of being so very sick and tired, as anyone would be, quite obviously.

The aches have turned to pains, actual and intense and relentless pains, so much pain, in the matter of all things factual, I can barely walk. My back, the lower portion of it, has tightened and old injuries have found new ways to complain.

No matter, I have Pinterest to keep me occupied and my bed to comfort me. Neither are doing me much good, but at least I am semi, sort of, and somewhat comfortable. But not really.

There was going to be a point to this rambling. I think there was at least. Rambling! That was where I was heading, straight towards the rambling.

Because of the incessant coughing I was experiencing, I took some medication, the packaging clearly made promises of cough calming relief. Inserts included with such medication often make false promises, as this particular insert clearly did.

After some time, I took a muscle relaxer because of the pain induced by the coughing that was anything but being calmed. Because of the coughing and the pain, I was having great difficulty falling into the blissful, healing sleep I so desperately desired and needed, so in my sleep deprived, pain filled, chest congested misery, I added to the mix the smallest dose of something to help me sleep.

In theory, it all seemed the smart thing to do. Theories are sometimes ill-conceived and do not result in the outcomes expected. It was a long and strange night filled with fitful turnings and the oddest sorts of dreams.

I clearly remember waking, several times and reaching for my pen. In my groggy state one thing was clear, brilliant ideas were brewing. I recall writing what I just knew was going to be some sort of inspired masterpiece.

This afternoon, yes, the morning passed me by, I begrudgingly awoke with a wee bit of excitement to read what my subconscious had penned to the page.

Something was seriously amiss. The notebook and the pen and the reading light lay by my side, but the scribblings which greeted me were not quite what I was expecting. Not quite at all. A sampling, I give you . . .


It was, at least I think it must have been, at the very most, three days before the second evening of the month. I remember it was in the eve because she was tucking the sun into the horizon and placing the stars where the sun had spent the last part of the afternoon, and at the very least it could have been only yesterday.

   Ticktock, I’m lost and I’m late and it’s almost time for something.

For what?


How do you know?

   Because it’s always almost time for something.

It is?

   Yes, actually.

Like what?

   Something, for certain. Sometimes lots of somethings.

You’re so dreadfully difficult to understand.

   I know. It’s delightful though, isn’t it?

It’s something.


It turns out my brilliance was not nearly as brilliant in the light day as it was in the darkest and deepest parts of the night. sigh

Still, perhaps I can use my nonsensical, over-medicated  ramblings to create some sort of little story someday. In the meantime, I will return to my misery until it subsides . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Marcus Aurelius

Marcus Aerelius

We have infinitely more power over our thoughts and emotions than we realize. It is within each of us to change, redirect, and refocus the negative into the positive if we allow ourselves to let go of what we think controls us . . . Don’t give the power you hold inside to undeserving thoughts, feelings, emotions, and what you perceive as pain. Grow from it, learn from it, use it, but never, never give it your power.


The End of Her Pain

The End of Her Pain

Going through more old files I came across this one . . . It’s filled with a wee bit of affectation, but I was fifteen when I wrote it, I vaguely remember it being a writing assignment. 

The End of Her Pain

Her weapon of choice was words. Words forged from the icy steel of her anger. She stared quietly at him, through him. He felt uncomfortable and vulnerable as her eyes penetrated deep into his soul. She spoke not, simply let her eyes talk in the absence of voice.

The biting silence was nearly enough to tear him apart. He felt his hands trembling as anxiety began to blanket the air about him. It seemed an eternity had passed before he felt the sting of her first blow.

“I can no longer bear the torment of what you call love.” she finally spoke and he felt he’d been struck so hard he should fall from the force it.

“I no longer wish to be shackled in the prison of your heart,” as the words darted from her lips his pulse quickened, confusion and anger wrestled within him. “The cold and darkness of it has dulled my senses and robbed my soul of peace.” Her monotone voice made him uneasy in his own skin.

He searched for words of his own to defend himself, no words would lend themselves to his desperation. His pleading eyes looked to hers for mercy but found none. She remained unstirred and unmoved by his obvious plight. If anything, she revelled in it.

A flurry of questions raged within him. Had he turned this sweet soul so sour and bitter? What had he done to deserve such an attack? His mind raced for the answers he longed for. The answers did come, for the first time it was clear to him. As his smug arrogance began to fade from the reality of her pain, he realized what he had not done for her was the abuse she’d endured for so long.

Always he had thought wounds were made with anger and harsh words, or the pounding of a fist. Now, in his memories, he so clearly recalls all he had chosen to ignore in the past. He sadly sits and thinks of how her lovely smile would fade when he dismissed her dreams. He saw for the first time the many tears that had fallen as he turned from her in times of need. He felt guilt for all the times everything else had been more important than her.

In his newfound clarity of mind he knew the damage he had done. Years of neglect and selfishness had left far worse a wound than any weapon could have delivered. He wanted redemption. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness, but his arrogant pride had not yet been fully broken, he couldn’t bring himself to do the only thing that could end this torment.

She looked into his eyes and knew she did not have to speak another word. She could plainly see in his desperation she had bruised him, but as she turned to walk away from him, forever, she simply said, “I hope you find happiness.”

As the distance between them grew they both knew he never would. She’d made sure of that. Somehow her words had changed him, he now felt unworthy of happiness. He’d taken his chance and tossed it foolishly aside in the blind assumption he could do no wrong.

He’d taken her love for granted. When the petals of her love began to wither and fall he crushed them beneath his feet. He could have saved the beautiful flower of her love, he could have quenched her thirst and filled her world with light, but he didn’t. He left her to wilt in his shadow and now, nothing would ever grow where she’d once been.

She felt the slightest twinge of pity for him, knowing the misery she’d left him to. He would forever walk alone with his thoughts of what was, what could have been, and what will never be. As she raised her eyes toward the sun, taking in the warmth of it once again, she knew her pain and sorrow was forever ended and his had only just begun.

Crystal R. Cook 1985




Strength can be so gentle
like soft rains from high above

Kindness can be tough
if it is not done out of love

Caring sometimes hurts
but it’s a chance worth taking

Pain sometimes is healing
it is wholeness in the making

Faith really can move mountains
if you truly do believe

Fear can hide reality
if it’s all you choose to see

A whisper can be heard
clearer than a shout

A touch with tender strength
can lift the chains of doubt

Love can change the world
if it’s pure and it is true

It’s a blessing and a gift
from God above to you

Crystal R. Cook 2004

Thank you, Mom

Four times a year, I celebrate the birth of a child. Four times a year, I jokingly say I should be the one getting presents and cake and adoration, after all, I did do all the hard work on those celebratory days in our family history. The most joyous days of my life were spent in agonizing pain, pure physical torture, really.

Don’t get me wrong, despite the unbelievable, indescribable, thought it was never going to end, pain, I look back on those seemingly endless hours of labor with happiness and pride. Those were the greatest days of my life. I look forward to celebrating the day each of my children made their grand entrance into the world, I just happen to think good ole mom should get a pat or two on the back as well.

With that being said, I want to thank my mother. Today is my birthday. Today is the day she used every ounce of strength and love within her to give me the gift of life. Today is the day she became a mother. Her entire life changed and she embraced her new identity. When she held me in her arms, the pain she’d endured faded into memory. I wish I could remember the first moment our eyes met. I cherish my mother.

Today, I celebrate her . . .