Dear Tendonitis

I wondered if you secretly were in love with me. 

I wondered if you had a secret little obsession with me that caused you to stay by my side, in secret, every damn minute of every damn day. 

They say love comes with a price. 

Your price?
Pain. 

 

Do you remember that day?

The day I sat in the OT office on South Park Street, eyes sagging to the floor, trying to hold back the Niagara Falls?

Trying to push the world away from my damaged fingertips,

And away from my heart,

All because I was told I should take a leave of absence from my job?

“Injury leave,” they said.
All because I was told that I should quit guitar for six weeks?

“Resting period,” they said. 

 

Do you remember that day?

The day that I nodded my head and smiled with my eyes, mouth covered by a mask?

I mastered smiling with my eyes and not with my mouth that year. 

There were a lot of days like that. 

I had to do it so damn much, 

To hide my tears — my pain. 

To hide the monster that lived inside of my skin, struggling to push itself free from my tendons. 

To hide my love of guitar, my one true love. 

They say love comes with a price. 

And your price?

Pain. 

 

Do you remember that day?

The day that I got tired of waiting for you to leave my house — my body. 

The day that I got tired of expecting pain.

Tired of sitting on a zoom call for my 10th grade English class while sobbing uncontrollably.

But not tired of music. 

I’d sit in my comfy black chair with my comfy pink blanket, fiddling with my phone. 

Scrolling through the thousands of loops that Garageband had to offer, I’d almost forgotten that you existed. 

And I liked that feeling. 

I liked ignoring you. 

So I did.