What Moriarty told Sherlock and how it relates to chronic pain
SHERLOCK: You. You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain?MORIARTY: You always feel it, Sherlock. But you don’t have to fear it.
There is so much truth in that last sentence. Admittedly, that is the only portion of the entire show in which I agree with BBC show’s Moriarty, and to be fair, I’m taking this out of context. However, it was a scene that left a deep impression on me when I saw it the first time. And the second. And the third. I admit I’m a bit obsessed with it (the show that is, not the scene).
Be that as it may, I personally found this interaction, this small part of a much bigger conversation, to be a light bulb moment. Because Moriarty was right. In the scene, Sherlock is attempting to find a way to handle overwhelming pain. It’s scary. In fact, acute pain can be terrifying. Now, I’ve never been shot, but I’ve definitely felt gut-wrenching pain that takes your breath away and is massively difficult to deal with.
And if you look at it in the context of chronic illness, Sherlock represents someone desperate to find a way to cope. Moriarty, shockingly, provides the answer. Fear is like a magnifying glass. If you’re currently dealing with pain, the idea that you’ll always have to deal with it makes it worse. And when a flare-up recedes and you feel a bit more alive, you’re consumed with fear of when the next flare-up will come. It keeps you tense, jumpy, and hyper-aware of every little ache. That mindset makes living with chronic illness unmanageable.
You wish you could simply make yourself immune to uncertainty. But we don’t get that option. So what do you do?
Learn not to fear it. Learn to be okay in the pain. Please don’t punch your screen, I understand how triggering that sentence can be. But it’s the only way I’ve learned to not just be functional, but to be happy. The thing about recurring pain (and this is purely a personal point of view) is that it becomes familiar enough to lose its fear-laced edge. That is not to be mistaken with the notion that the pain lessens over time. It simply looses it’s ‘wow’ factor if you will.
Ten years in, I now welcome it the way Sherlock welcomes Moriarty. Which is to say I don’t welcome it at all, but I rise to the challenge instead of shirk in exhausted terror. Because no matter how often it seems to win, you won’t give it the satisfaction of defeating you.
This doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
The introspection that this type of scene triggers is exhausting. Because once you wrap your mind around the concept, you have to take it a step further and implement it. And honestly, there’s nothing less sexy than coming to terms with chronic pain. But there is something empowering in it. When you come to accept the situation for what it is, you aren’t giving up. But you’re shifting your mentality. And you’ll start to see that you’re able to handle things differently.
Does this mean the pain won’t limit you the way it has before? No. Does it mean that the migraines will be less intense, the nausea just a bit less noticeable or the pain less frequent? I’m afraid not.
But it does mean the crushing fear of what the future holds for you recedes. It means that your illness has lost its edge over you. You can face each day with a calm handle on the challenges you know you’ll be facing. It helps you appreciate the times you’re feeling well, and accept the times you don’t.
It took me two years to get to a point where I could remain present, regardless of how acute the pain was. I was able to enjoy the moments I felt better more fully, and that was a win in my book. It also meant that the irrational fear that one day the pain would come and never go away moved to the passenger seat, and I took control of the wheel. That is to say, I’m aware of its presence, but it’s not picking the path we're taking.
Think like Sherlock. Use your own strengths to outwit a seemingly impossible foe. Who knows, given enough time, you might just take over the world. But, like, in a good way, okay?
