I wrote The Princess of Pain as an act of solidarity for a friend of mine who had a condition which, back then, was called Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy. It’s now referred to as Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS). This is a chronic illness characterized by severe burning pain, usually in the extremities, and extreme sensitivity to touch. Nobody really understands CRPS, and there is no cure. My friend told me that so many members of her support group had committed suicide, she had to stop attending. She told me how some victims of CRPS went so far as to have their limbs amputated in an effort to stop the burning, but even with the limb gone, the pain would persist. She was no longer able to tolerate painkillers like Ibuprofen, because chronic use of them had damaged her liver. Confined to a wheelchair because the pain had impaired her mobility, my friend was living a constricted life of extreme suffering, with no prospect of relief.
Struggling with my own chronic illness, myalgic encephalomyelitis (aka Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or ME/CFS.), I wanted to be a supportive companion. My burdens seemed light in comparison with hers.
But here’s the thing: Processing trauma is just that—a process. Even though I knew better, I still found myself compulsively suggesting things that might “fix” my friend: changes in diet, nutritional supplements, different forms of meditation, counseling focused on unearthing hidden memories, a spiritual reframing of the experience… as if my friend, in her agony, was not sufficiently motivated to have explored everything on the planet that held out even the remotest hope of relief. As if I, with my recent and superficial understanding of her condition, was somehow more of an expert than she! But still, every time I saw her, I would be overwhelmed by a desire to offer unsolicited advice.
But here’s the thing: Processing trauma is just that—a process. Even though I knew better, I still found myself compulsively suggesting things that might “fix” my friend: changes in diet, nutritional supplements, different forms of meditation, counseling focused on unearthing hidden memories, a spiritual reframing of the experience… as if my friend, in her agony, was not sufficiently motivated to have explored everything on the planet that held out even the remotest hope of relief. As if I, with my recent and superficial understanding of her condition, was somehow more of an expert than she! But still, every time I saw her, I would be overwhelmed by a desire to offer unsolicited advice.
What was going on? I hated it when people did that to me, and, believe me, with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome you hear it all. Everybody is an expert. They are especially big on the psychiatric theories about the disease. Crazy and lazy. Control freak. Narcissist. Malingerer. Diseases that are poorly understood provide ripe fodder for the ableists of the world.
So I knew that what I was doing was oppressive to my friend. What I was really communicating with all these brilliant suggestions, was that I could not accept her truth. I really could not accept her. I was letting her know that I thought she wasn’t trying hard enough, that she was giving up too soon, that she was trusting unreliable authorities. I was telling her that she needed to… to what? What was it I thought she needed to do? In fact, she had done and was doing exactly what she needed to do. She was accepting every minute of every day a grossly unfair, undeserved, unrelentingly cruel and vicious life sentence of literal, physical torture.
I was the one in need of fixing. I wrote The Princess of Pain as an apology and as an amends to her, to acknowledge her strength and courage and to acknowledge the work I still needed to do.
I was the one in need of fixing. I wrote The Princess of Pain as an apology and as an amends to her, to acknowledge her strength and courage and to acknowledge the work I still needed to do.
The Princess of Pain is about the fundamental conundrum of trauma: “It has to be accepted; it cannot be accepted.”
The answer for “How do I do this?” is not a simple one. Everyone’s journey with trauma is different. Maybe we cover much of the same ground, but we all cover it differently, in our own way and in our own time, and we cover parts of it over and over again. “How do we come to terms with trauma?” Daily and never.
The answer for “How do I do this?” is not a simple one. Everyone’s journey with trauma is different. Maybe we cover much of the same ground, but we all cover it differently, in our own way and in our own time, and we cover parts of it over and over again. “How do we come to terms with trauma?” Daily and never.
The Princess of Pain has her confrontations with the Powers That Be in her cosmos. They may distract her, or soothe her, or misunderstand her, or frustrate her, or torment her, but they never provide her with the answers she wants. That’s the truth about trauma.
The Princess of Pain is my fairy tale to end all fairy tales. Life is filled with injustice and meaningless suffering. They are not manifestations of some mysterious will of God, where all things work together for good and we are just too limited to see the Big Picture. They are not the result of some manifestation of karma from an unremembered criminal past life. They are not the result of some prenatal contract that our soul has made in order to learn the great lessons and glean the beneficent gifts of experiencing overwhelming pain and horror.
The Princess of Pain is my fairy tale to end all fairy tales. Life is filled with injustice and meaningless suffering. They are not manifestations of some mysterious will of God, where all things work together for good and we are just too limited to see the Big Picture. They are not the result of some manifestation of karma from an unremembered criminal past life. They are not the result of some prenatal contract that our soul has made in order to learn the great lessons and glean the beneficent gifts of experiencing overwhelming pain and horror.
I don’t know that I have ever made my peace with the trauma in my life, but I consider it a huge victory to have abandoned many of the seductive ideologies that used to give me a fake sense of control over random events in my life at the expense of authentic empathy. I have acquired a deeper appreciation for the courage it takes to resist the strategies of denial and the callousness of cynicism, to take on a quest to accept the unacceptable.
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Much gratitude to Sudie Rakusin, for her exquisite illustrations, and to Mary Meriam and Headmistress Press for publishing The Princess of Pain.
Click here to order.
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Much gratitude to Sudie Rakusin, for her exquisite illustrations, and to Mary Meriam and Headmistress Press for publishing The Princess of Pain.
Click here to order.
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