Swear.

It really is supposed to help you feel better.
Have I said this already? Have I set down the scientific study that proves that swearing helps diminish pain? Goddamn it. Why do I always forget what’s come be-fucking-fore?! I feel a strong need to swear at the moment (not this way, of course, there’s nothing I feel I need to swear by or to or for) but I have a strong desire to let loose a string of expletives, at full volume. Not to ease the physical pain (that queasiness in my belly isn’t all that bad) but to ease the pain of sitting in meetings, or receiving condescending emails, or watching my experience devalued, diminished, tossed away like rubbish – of being treated as if I were disposable. It’s like holding my hand against ice, as they did in the study, and I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my hand there pressed against the biting cold, watching my fingers turn pink and then red, wondering how much longer I can keep this up.

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