Welcome to the Pain Olympics!

Welcome to the Pain Olympics!

It’s time for you to prove

That no one in this world

Has suffered more than you!

It’s your time to shine!

You can make the whole world see

That your pain is more real

Than everyone else’s! I guarantee!

Of course, there’s no need

To participate in this game.

But it seems you’re experienced.

Oh, you want to play? What a shame.

I can tell you’re very nervous.

I’m certain you’ll be just fine.

After all, you compare your pain

To your child’s to keep them in line.

For when she complains

About being bullied in school

You scoff. “I had it worse.

My bullies tried to drown me in a pool.”

Oh, you seem scared.

You wonder how I knew?

Don’t think too hard about it.

Focus on your first opponent, Drew.

He is a young, innocent boy

And according to him,

He suffers from nightmares,

Ones that are awfully grim.

So do you comfort this child?

Oh, no. What do you say?

“At least you can wake up to a loving parent.

But my mother abused me every day.”

You think that will make him feel better,

Or at least make him self-reflect

And learn that with such trifling matters

He has no need to be so upset.

Instead, he stares at you a moment,

Then sighs and leaves dejected.

Kinda reminds me of how your kid reacts

When she feels her pain is rejected.

Oh, well. You’ve won the first round.

Let’s go on to round two.

Here comes a young, sweet woman,

A wealthy doctor named Mimsy Lue.

She says that her father died

In a car accident when she was nine.

To this day she fears driving,

For she fears her life would be on the line.

She struggles with taking breaks,

As she is a workaholic,

It helps manage her grief

Or at the very least ignore it.

“Sorry for your loss,”

You say with a sympathetic tone,

“At least you have good memories of him.

Mine left me and never came home.

“It could always be worse,

Like what I went through.

I was abused, and now I’m poor,

And I’m not rich like you.”

You think this will make Lue

Feel much better about everything.

But she just says, “Okay?” and leaves,

There’s an unseen weight she’s carrying.

I’m sure you helped her a lot, though.

The next round should be easy.

Next is young girl told to clean house

Who feels a little grumpy.

She doesn’t feel like cleaning

Because she wants to be alone.

Anyways, she’s usually the one who cleans up

Whenever she is at home.

There are other issues she has,

Like pain from a past betrayal.

But you don’t care about that part,

For her childish complaints are frail.

You cut her off and attack.

“Cleaning up is why you’re grumpy?!

You’re lucky you have anything to clean!

When I was your age, I had nothing!”

You’re about to go on

About the miseries of your life

And say she has “no reason to be this way”

Ignoring the girl’s past hardship and strife.

The girl feels shut down,

And eventually leaves without a word.

You think you’ve put her in her place

And that her grumpiness is absurd.

Her minor problem was insulting.

So what if she had a little strife?

You went through so much more pain

Than she has in her entire life!

It’s not like you get grumpy 

About the smallest, trivial things.

Except the time you got cut off in traffic

And lost a favorite pair of earrings.

But that was different, and more reasonable

Than whatever that girl was upset about.

If that girl wasn’t sure if she should be grateful

Your firm rebuke removed all doubt.

One by one,

Opponents leave discontent

As they are shut down by your comments

Which you say with more contempt.

Congratulations! You’ve made it!

Oh, wait! Sorry, I lied!

One more challenger steps forth,

And she says her parents died

When she was only a babe

And she eventually got sick,

And she had to get surgery

Which caused her to be amnestic

And when she got foster parents,

They abused her every day,

And didn’t let her go to school

Nor did they let her play.

Nor did they let her have friends

For her to socialize with.

When she grew up,

She fell in love with Dan Smith.

The two got married,

But her husband was a monster

So she got a divorce

Which, emotionally, cost her.

She became depressed,

And stayed in bed all day,

Wondering when good luck

Would finally come her way

And–wait, you are sweating.

Something troubles you, no?

You’re afraid you’ve met your match?!

Surely, this cannot be so?!

You shake your head slowly.

“There’s no way I can top that.”

Dear me, dear me.

It’s a shame to hear that.

Now it’s time to see who won

The Pain Olympics today.

Whoever’s name is on the card

Gets a surprise that’ll blow them away.

Let me get my card from my associate,

And see if it confirms your fear…

Oh! Look! Let me show you.

There is no name here!

You and your opponent

Are very much confused.

“Who won the Pain Olympics,”

You ask, getting more bemused.

I smile and laugh. “Poor souls!

I’ll let you in on one of my secrets.

There are no winners

In the Pain Olympics!

“There will always be someone

Who has it worse than you!

Feel better about your problems now?

No, I don’t think you do!

“Others having it ‘worse’

Doesn’t get rid of your pain,

And your need to compare

Hasn’t helped your daughter Jane!

“By saying you had it worse,

You shut Jane down and made her see,

She cannot trust you with her anger

Or her sadness! Do you agree?

“And even if your struggles

Were ‘worse’ than what anyone faces,

Saying such things doesn’t help anyone!

If you two think that, then you’re nutcases!”

You look at me in shock,

Unsure what to make of me,

The hostess that brought you to the place

Where you thought you’d earn glory.

“Who are you,” you ask.

“Why did you make this game?!”

“I didn’t create it,” I say, “Others did;

Ones either prideful or in severe pain.”