Tag: pain

Since my father’s death, I dream about descents and falls. How, without warning, gravity has you in its grip.

Abigail Rasminsky dreamed of becoming a professional dancer. Then she got hurt.

Pain is indeed inherited, but treating it as an affliction need not be handed down from generation to generation.

He can’t feel pain. She feels as if her body is constantly on fire. A genetic link connects them both.

“Once, when the pain came, I grabbed for a knife, my fist tight around it, contemplating digging out my right eye. I was twenty-one.”

A central agony in these books is alienation—not only the pain of abuse, or heartbreak, or evaporation, but the pain of having your pain appropriated. The books themselves reclaim the hurt for their authors, and whatever their literary merit, they offer at least some catharsis for the reader, who can always relate. Rock songs make […]