Blood.

I used to wish that when I had cramps that I could just slice myself across the waist with a knife and let all the pain just drain out. Or when my bursitis in my hip acted up that I could stab a long hypodermic needle into the bursa between the joint and just puncture the inflated thing and pull all the hurt out. If I could make a large incision, or cause a catastrophic injury what I was feeling inside, the nervous pain, would leave. It was in the blood or the bursa fluid. It wasn't a sensation, but a physical presence. Microscopic, but existing. Like a kidney stone, how it calcifies into an impossibly small, spiky piece of protein. That's how I see pain. Sharp, tiny shards that invade my body and are a real, physical presence.
Now they congregate like magnets. Now the pain is weighted and brings my body down. The injuries, no matter how catastrophic or meaningful they may be, they don't or can't get rid of this weight. This idea in my head violates all medical knowledge that I've attained, but it can't be shaken. Now the injuries are replaced.
I use antidepressants to dissipate the weight. It breaks it apart, dissolves it, redistributes it. The drugs destroy my sense of tact, and my ability to either cry or smile. I'm unemotional, and point blank honest. But therein lies the problem, even by inflicting this upset on others, it doesn't leave me. It's only represented in words and actions. It's a shallow imitation. Understand yet? That's okay.
Only one person does.