Sometimes I wish the rash had come. It would have gone, and maybe, just maybe, the pain would have too. At least, then, I would have known why. Why it hurts, every day. Why my boyfriend can't hold my head. Why I can't ride my bike anymore, when that used to be my favourite thing. Why I gel my hair away from my cheek. Why I avoid my glasses. Why I don't even go outside for fear of the wind. Instead, it hurts, more every day. The only thing that helps is the drugs. Two pills in the morning. Two at noon. Three in the evening. Plus everything else to keep me healthy, so ten pills in the evening and two puffs on the inhaler. It's not going away. The pain will always be there. So bad sometimes that I pull over and pop a couple Tylenol and wait for the pain to fade to the background so I can see the road again. It gets worse now. With no cure but more pills, it makes more and more sense that others nicknamed it the suicide disease.