The Fight of My Life: Living with Chronic Pain in a System That Doesn’t Care

“Dammit, I woke up!”

Every morning starts the same way. I wake up, and my first thought isn’t, “Okay, another day!” No, it’s more like, “… damn it, I woke up.” That might sound dramatic, but anyone who lives with chronic pain knows exactly what I mean. Sleep is the only sometimes escape from pain, and the second I open my eyes, reality comes crashing back.

Before moving, I do a mental roll call. What’s gonna hurt the most today? Will it be my neck, stiff and locked up? My shoulders burning from the inside? My hands, swollen and useless? My back, the vertebrae grinding against each other? My hips, my knee, my feet? It’s always something, usually multiple things, and I have no way of knowing what today’s special combination will be. Adding a storm front creates a cacophony above everything.

Living in constant pain is like going ten rounds in a boxing match, but without getting a break between rounds. It’s just hit after hit after hit. Playing Rocky, actor Sylvester Stallone told his son in the movie Rocky Balboa:

“You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done!”

I’ve heard nothing truer in my life. But from chronic pain? It hits hard. And just when you think you can’t take another punch, life throws in something else to make sure you hit the mat.

The trick is getting back up. Every. Single. Time.

The Physical Toll

I’ve got arthritis in my neck, both shoulders, hands, mid-back, three vertebrae in my lumbar spine, both hips (but the right one is worse), my right knee, and both feet. As if that wasn’t enough, I also deal with soft tissue pain in both elbows, both sides of my neck, and my right shoulder blade. Then, there are the cyst-like masses in both hands. One sits right under the joints of my right index finger, which means gripping things is a joke, and pain is a constant. Ever try to go through a day without using the index finger of your dominant hand? Go ahead, try it. Let me know how that works out for you.

This level of pain isn’t just physical. It’s mentally exhausting. It wears you down, takes pieces of you. When every step, every movement, every breath reminds you that your body is breaking down, it’s easy to feel defeated.

But I can’t afford to let myself stay down. That’s how winning is done.

The System That Works Against Us

As if the pain itself wasn’t enough, there’s the battle with my insurance company. I had a medication that worked. It didn’t erase the pain—nothing does—but it made it bearable. It let me function. Then, one day, the insurance company decided that my dose was too high for their liking. Not for medical reasons. Not because my doctor thought it was too much. No, some faceless decision-maker, probably sitting in an office with zero medical experience, decided that my prescription didn’t fit within their policy.

So, they took it away. Just like that.

They didn’t offer an alternative. They didn’t suggest another plan. They just cut me off and left me to figure it out. My nurse practitioner and I scrambled, trying different medications and searching for something that would work. We found something, but it’s not the same. It’s not as effective. And now, every month, I have to go back to my doctor, acting like Oliver, hat in hand, and ask for a refill, like I’m doing something wrong just by needing relief.

This is what chronic pain patients go through. We’re not drug addicts. We’re not looking to “get high.” We just want to live our lives with some level of comfort. But the system isn’t built for us. It’s built for control.

The Stigma of Pain Management

We hear it all the time—the opioid crisis, the dangers of addiction. And yes, addiction is real. It ruins lives. But how the system has reacted to it has left people like me stranded. Instead of cracking down on illegal use and irresponsible prescribing, they’ve put up barriers that make it nearly impossible for people with legitimate pain to get the medications they need.

We get treated like criminals for simply trying to manage our pain. The monthly doctor visits, scrutiny, and suspicion all add up. And the worst part? The shame. No one talks about that, but it’s there.

I feel it whenever I have to call my nurse practitioner for a refill. That little voice in my head whispering, Do they think I’m an addict? Do they think I’m just after the meds? It’s humiliating. I didn’t ask for this life. I didn’t ask for this pain. But here I am, fighting not just my body but a system that doesn’t trust me.

And still, I get back up. That’s how winning is done.

The Daily Battle

Pain management isn’t just about pills. I wish it were that simple. Every single day, I throw everything I’ve got at this beast—lidocaine patches, heat, ice, lidocaine gel, stretching, trying to stay active even when my body screams at me to stop. I do what I can because giving up isn’t an option.

But here’s the thing about chronic pain people don’t understand: it never stops. It’s always there, wearing you down, making even the simplest things feel impossible.

Some days, brushing my teeth feels like a battle. Some days, I drop things because my hands refuse to cooperate. Some days, getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. And some days, the pain is so overwhelming that I just sit there, staring at the wall, too exhausted to even think. But no matter how bad or hard the day hits, I get up.

Because that’s how winning is done.

What Needs to Change

The system needs to recognize that chronic pain is real. That people like me aren’t trying to game the system—we’re just trying to survive. Pain management shouldn’t be a fight. It shouldn’t be a battle of pride and bureaucracy. It should be about care.

Doctors need to treat their patients without fear of government oversight. Insurance companies must stop playing doctor and let medical professionals do their jobs. And society needs to stop treating chronic pain patients like criminals just because we rely on medications to function.

We didn’t ask for this life, but we’re doing the best we can with it.

Finding Hope in the Fight

So, what keeps me going?

Some days, it’s sheer stubbornness. Some days, it’s the love of the people around me. Some days, it’s knowing that, despite everything, I still have a life to live. I still have things to do, people who care about me, and moments worth fighting for.

Chronic pain has taken a lot from me, but it hasn’t taken everything.

There are still good days. Days where the pain is manageable. These are days when I can laugh, enjoy a walk (even if it’s short), and feel like myself again. And those days remind me why I keep fighting.

Because no matter how many times pain knocks me down, I will always get back up.

That’s how winning is done.

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