Pain that speaks.

Chronic pain doesn't seek cure but listening. When will we learn its secret language?

Pain that speaks.

Chronic pain is the body's idiot savant: mute before medicine, eloquent to the unconscious. While clinical protocols seek to silence it with drugs and techniques, it stubbornly insists on its encrypted message. It's not organic rebellion but writing in the flesh: what remained marked as indelible letter from the primordial encounter with the Other. Where we expect to find pure dysfunction, we discover signifier.

Paradoxically, those who suffer most are those who most need their pain. Like the destitute embracing his rags, the "chronic patient" identifies with his symptom until making it identity. Pain then functions as passport before the Other: "Recognize me because I suffer, care for me because I'm broken, exempt me because I grieve." Healing threatens to leave him orphaned of recognition. Who would he be without his distinctive pain?

Contemporary clinic doesn't aim to eliminate pain but to transform it into sinthome. It's not about curing but allowing the subject to inhabit his symptom without submitting to it, assuming his painful singularity as what anchors him in the world without completely determining his desire.

Psychotherapy

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