Ugh. Just kill me.

I broke my arm once when I am in elementary, sustained two cuts in the forehead, jumped from the first floor of a building and fell headfirst into the sidewalk because I fell from my bike.

Both of my knees swelled and I had the liquid pumped from them, which resulted in my inability to walk as each step reminded me that I am not in pain, but I am pain.

I had been confined to a hospital twice and I have been desensitized to that feared needle, even those used in the operation in my knees, which I think was around 3 mm in diameter. Recently, I have developed a habit of punching the wall whenever I get upset which is, well, all the time.

I’ve been through battles, and cried a sea of tears (haha. Now that’s from The Odyssey), been through numerous heartaches and heartbreaks, been through numerous life-or-death situations, endured nerve-wracking situations which I pulled through painfully.

But nothing, nothing compares to having a tooth pulled out and having the next one shaped to receive a jacket all in the same session. That soul-deadening sound of the high speed drill as it approaches your mouth and filling your nostrils with the smell of burning enamel. That horrible feeling of your tooth being pulled out that feels like a friend, who you have been with for many years, is being forcefully pulled out from you and shakes your skull, effectively rearranging and dredging out fears of the dentist from the depths of your brain.

Nothing. Nothing compares to a toothache. But at least we have painkillers. And beer to match.