Jeremy lay in the hospital bed. His mother was sitting, flipping through the pages of a magazine. The television flickered on the wall opposite him and Jerry Springer enlightened the viewers with his final thoughts.

The nurse entered the room with his meal tray and oral pain medicine. The nurse was kind and generous and seemed sincere. But Jeremy still couldn’t muster a smile. He felt badly for not being more cheerful for everyone else’s benefit. And this conflicted him. He knew things could be much worse.

The blanket over his body was thin and clung to him. It curved in the transition between his body and the bed, where it lay perfectly flat. As it did where his right leg should have been.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the doctor had said.

Although he intellectually understood the doctor to be right, or probably right, he just didn’t feel that way now. He didn’t believe he would for a long time either, because he certainly didn’t feel lucky. Thinking about how much his life would change made him tired. He didn’t feel like eating. The food kinda sucked anyway.

His mother had at least once said something similarly to the doctor. She encouraged Jeremy to “keep perspective” and to remember that although what had happened was terrible, there were a lot of people who had gone through worse and didn’t have the resources that were available to help Jeremy through it all.

But it didn’t stop the pain. And he didn’t like how the painkillers made him feel. And he wanted his goddamned leg back.

Why do we use a standard of misery to judge our situation or circumstances? Why do we measure our pain by the pain of others? We can’t possibly know what level of physical or emotional pain others go through or have gone through. So why do we attempt to compare ours to theirs? And why does it matter?

People do it all the time. I have in fact done this on many occassions. Arguments with my siblings when we were younger often began with comparing our relative pain with each other. I suffered more because of this, she suffered more because of that. I was worse off because I had to clean the toilets, he was worse off because he had to clean the garage. What I couldn’t figure out is why we would pride ourselves in our suffering, first of all. Second of all, I couldn’t figure out why we needed to compare it. The fact of the matter is, we both lamented our chores. We both suffered. Comparing our pain did nothing to alleviate it.

What’s more is that our mother would come in and remind us that no matter what we went through, it didn’t compare with the torment some kids went through in other countries.  We were smart though, became fast allies, and collectively rolled our eyes.  My brother was a much better talker and explained that though our plight was, in a sordid sense, more preferable to that of others, it didn’t stop us from feeling anguish.  It didn’t get rid of the chores.  Chores remained painful no matter what anyone else went through.  My mom would silently curse herself that she was burdened with such intelligent children but she was always composed and just as quick.  She would retort that regardless of the reasonableness of my brother’s argument, we should finish our chores not because of the pain of others, but because of the potential pain we faced if we didn’t finish our chores.  Our eyes would roll again, not in annoyance this time, but in defeat.

The fact of the matter is that suffering exists.  And it is pervasive.  We often compare our pain and anxiety in order to make sense of it.  Sometimes, we try and compare our pain, as my brother and I did, in attempt to set our pain apart.  To set ourselves apart.  It’s another way to distinguish ourselves; we justify our pain.  It becomes integral to our identity.  This is isn’t a new idea. Christianity is wholly based on Christ’s suffering and death and is a factor that sets Jesus apart from everyone else in history.

The alternative to suffering that sets us apart is suffering that brings us together. For some, such as battlefield warriors or victims of catastrophe, this can be an important element for healing. It can bring people together by giving them a weighty commonality.  In some cases, the event and the pain it caused becomes entrenched again in our identity.  It becomes something that distinguishes us from others.  It makes us special.  There are some victims of tragedy or other combat veterans who dwell in that pain too the point that it IS their identity.  To take it away is to take away their self.

But most suffering is lonely. Although it is universal, it is highly individualized. It does nothing to bring us together and instead only emphasizes our non-uniqueness. It makes us feel alien and unimportant.  And the last thing that we want is to keep the pain going.  We don’t want to develop a tolerance for it.  We want and should want to solve for it.

So the least helpful thing that we can do to solve for pain is to compare it to others.  We should not use it as an important part of our selves.  It should not set us apart and it should not be something that brings us together.  It needs to be completely neutral.  If it is subjective, it will always remain.  If we objectify it, then it can be eradicated completely.

When someone complains of pain, they should cease to do so for fear that their pain should draw unnecessary attention.  They shouldn’t receive sympathy either; they should receive a means to stop the pain.  In almost all cases, that means they should see someone with the training and experience to help them eliminate the pain or the problem that causes it.  Most of the time, this is a doctor of some kind.  In other cases, it is someone with perfect empathy and listening skills.  Someone who will not diminish the pain by pointing out the woes of others, but also someone who will not accept this pain as a fundamential aspect of the person it possesses.

If we adhere to a standard of misery and continue to compare our suffering, then we will remain insufferable.  If the experience of pain and anguish remains subjective, then it will stay an important, universal characteristic of the human condition.  If we can instead remove ourselves from our pain, then we may have hope of ending it.