I didn’t think this day would come.

I hoped it wouldn’t, but feared it would. Somewhere in the back of my head I always knew it was a possibility and then later, a probability, but I’m still surprised.

As of today, my head has hurt every single moment of every single day for a year.

A. whole. year.

To be honest with you, I sometimes struggle to remember what it was like before this past year, what it was like to not have pain. Because this pain is interwoven into every aspect of my life now. It is a part of me like my hair color. Like my love of chocolate. I’m Katie, I have chronic pain, I also like cats.

I don’t remember what it’s like to sleep through a whole night. I don’t remember what it’s like to not carry drugs with me at all times, drugs that won’t take away the headache, but may mitigate the dizziness or the nausea. I don’t remember my life before headaches, I just remember that things used to feel easier. I don’t remember what it’s like to not have to worry about what I might not be able to manage the next week, the next day, the next hour.

I don’t remember what it’s like to not have my life punctuated with pain.

There have been good things this year. There are victories that have been made sweeter by the fact that they have been hard fought. I have survived what would be a tough year without the complication of pain. But I have survived that year, with pain, in spite of pain, in the face of pain. I have managed when I probably should’ve quit, I have struggled and fought back. I have achieved what I was told I wouldn’t, and I am proud of myself.

And for that perspective, I am thankful.

But I am also tired.

I’m tired of fighting, of everything taking more energy than it should. I’m tired of always trekking uphill when I should be on level ground. I’m exhausted from my life, from surviving this past year. I’m tired of fighting everything, all the time.

I’m tired of life being a fight.

I know that life isn’t meant to be easy and if it was then the joys would be less joyful, the memories less cherished. I know that it’s the hard parts that give perspective to the easy parts. I know all of this and all the other platitudes. And yet, there is so much about this past year, about this life, that I don’t know.

I have been shaped into a different person by this year, one that I don’t fully know, one that I often don’t recognize. The person I am is unpredictable, often fragile. The person I am is sometimes sad, she hides in plain sight, she paints on a happy face when she is miserable inside. The person I am is scared of living more than anything else.

I never thought I would live through a year with constant pain. Partially because I didn’t think I could survive, but also because all along, I imagined that there would be an end point. There would be a day when it stopped, or there would be a solution. That day, that solution never came. I don’t know if this is just the first in many years of pain, I don’t know if it will all stop tomorrow.

I am not giving up yet.

I’m not quitting even though many days that would be the easiest thing to do.

I’m not going to adopt a new way of life or suddenly become a person I’m not.

I’m just going to live tomorrow like I have the last 365 days. With fear, with determination, with pain.

And with the hope that maybe the next day, the next week, the next month and now the next year, will be different.

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