If you work in physical labor, you’ll need to do the opposite, taking plenty of breaks to get off your feet. The great thing about physical labor is that it’s a job known for its reasonable, empathetic supervisors and flexible project deadlines. They will have absolutely no problem with you pulling up a chair once every hour for some pain prevention. There is no way they’ll say, “I didn’t hire you to sit on your ass. Get back to work or allow me to go spend the three minutes it would take me to find a replacement.”
You Will Definitely Become Tough
Here’s the thing about chronic pain: It doesn’t just affect you or your throbbing body part. It turns you into a dick, because it’s impossible to maintain a positive, healthy state of mind when all you can concentrate on is *throb, throb, throb, throb, throb*. Unless you’re showing exaggerated physical signs or you outright tell someone about how much pain you’re in, other people have no idea why you’re being a douche. They just think, “Man, screw that dude.” People in my situation usually know what it’s like to ask for a promotion and be interrupted with, “I’d really love to give you the position, but you really are a piece of shit, Chad.”
Also, chronic pain is often linked with depression, and the two feed off of each other like the Auryn, only made out of human shit. The pain makes the depression worse, and the depression robs you of the motivation and energy to manage the pain. It’s a perpetual motion machine that often ends with goddamn suicide. “How tragic, he was always so sad for some reason.” YES, MAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE THE ENTIRE TOP HALF OF MY FUCKING BODY WAS ON FIRE.
The upside is that if you survive a few decades of this, you’ll be tough as hell. You could be catapulted anus-first into a cactus made of metal and be like, “Pfft. Just give me a couple of aspirin. I’ll be fine.” Hell, Jeff Sessions may even put you in one of his speeches.
“I knew a writer who couldn’t walk the length of one shopping mall,” he’ll say. “His pain was so severe that he only slept a few hours per night. It gave him chronic depression. He had been in the hospital multiple times for nervous breakdowns. His kids learned to not ask him to go on long trips, because he couldn’t physically handle the car ride. But by God, he didn’t take opioids, because that man, he was as tough as a leather dildo.”
You can find John and lots of your favorite writers at The Modern Rogue, where he is editor in chief. You can also follow him on Twitter.
And heck, maybe leatherworking could be a fun hobby to take your mind off the pai–nah, not really.
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