I’m making the tacos, I want them to be spicy so I cut up a Jamaican pepper and throw it into the meat filling. Later, I have an itch and I rub the outer edge of my left eye. It starts to burn and I realize that I hadn’t washed my hands since cutting the pepper. I go to run water on my eye yet foolishly scoop it with my hand. It gets worse, burning under my eyelid. I can feel it swelling. I wash my hands with soap then scoop water into my eyes. It spreads to my right eye. I keep trying to flush out my eyes but the coolness of the water only numbs the pain, doesn’t wash it away.

It burns so much I’m crying uncontrollably. My hands must still be infected. I wad up two balls of toilet paper and alternate placing them on each eye while I walk around crying and muttering ‘it huuuuurts….my eyes……’ Finally I can’t even keep one eye open at a time and I sit on the couch, cover both eyes with my ice cold patches and cry and mutter.

10 minutes later I hear the boyfriend trying to unlock the door. He can hear me. It takes him forever to get into our apartment. I try to explain but I keep stopping to say it burns it burns and I run to the bathroom, eyes squinting open, throw down my patches and try to make new, fresh, cold ones. He comes in and starts filling the tub with cold water. I’m sobbing uncontrollably, slumping to the ground, he holds me up and helps me wash my hands again. He brings me to the edge of the tub but it’s too cold, I can’t dunk my head. I wait and cry as he goes to get a cloth. Its feels like years are passing. I start to tear at the water like I’m digging my way out of a grave. I bring it to my face to try and save my life. I sob from pain, I cry from fear of going blind. It burns it burns it burns.

He soaks the cloth and places it in my hands. I hold it’s satisfying coolness up to my eyes and re-soak it every few moments while he calls his mother who always knows best. She has no new recommendations. I’m exasperated. I give up and rest my head on the edge of the tub. He comes in and continues bringing the cloth to my face. It huuurts. It hurts more than anything in my entire life! Finally it starts to burn less and I can go longer without the cold wetness on my face.

Two hours later, my eyelids are bright pink and swollen. I feel like the morning after having cried all night. But I can see. And it only burns a little.

10 Comments on “THE PAIN!!!!!”

  1. EEEEP!!!!! i’ve soooo been there…. it is such a clausterphobic feeling…
    did you atleast get to eat the tacos??? hope the trauma of the experience is now over… 😛

  2. artistiqua says:

    Aww that must have hurt so much! 😦 Poor sweety, hope you feel better now. ❤

  3. poor sassy!
    I am so sorry honey. Were the tacos tasty?

  4. bastardang says:

    i guess those tacos were so good they brought tears to your eyes!
    sorry, i’m a punster. i hope you feel better, it sounded pretty traumatic. thank god for boyfriends!

  5. pumpkin_face says:

    That was the best short story I’ve read all year. It had me on the edge of my seat (as I was anxiously awaiting the end result since I knew that because you were able to type up the event, the burning must’ve gone away somehow) and I was happy that the ending was a colourful one.
    Pun intended.
    Because stories like that shouldn’t have happy endings. Though I of course feel bad that you had to experience that pain, you now have a great “never rub your eyes with pepper-juiced fingers” story to tell for years and years to come!
    10 years from now, we’ll be sitting around a table at an Italian restaurant, having dinner with our husbands (who have aged into even handsomer men) and a handful of bratty children with great names like Jack and Siena, and when the waiter brings us a separate bowl of Italian pepper oil to go with our pasta, you’ll remind us of that fateful day when you ran around your green and grey apartment screaming for salvation.

    • tianadargent says:

      I’d have to say that most of those children would have to be yours. I freak out having to take care of the dog so children would be a disaster. The boyfriend would have to take at least 75% responsibility for raising the child (cause there is no way in hell I would have more than one. One is still negotiable), he would do diapers and I would do vomit.
      But yeah, I’m definitely happy I lived through the hot-pepper fiasco. It will only make me more resilient to the inevitable pepper spray attacks of my day to day life.
      Sometimes I like to end posts and e-mails like this:
      and other times not.

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