Last Night, Today, My Life

Temples in a locked-down vise. Circus elephant balancing on one foot, spread across my forehead and nose. Head like Fred Flintstone’s big toe after he’s dropped a bowling ball. Ears as sensitive as cheese grater-bitten fingers. Nausea that could only be induced by deep sea fishing. Skin and scalp beaten with a meat mallet, just like the chicken breast I made for dinner. Poor chicken.

I want to go home. “Home,” that safe haven where agony is forbidden. Burrowed under the covers of my bed.

Trying to put my mind in the northwest corner of New Zealand’s south island. Under an arch that water carved from stone. A still section of the creek holds water turned red by minerals. Trees and giant ferns providing a respite from the sun. As soon as I squeezed through the small opening in the ground, I knew it would become my meditation spot. Too bad the mosquitoes are eating me alive.

The wiring of my 102-year-old house has been replaced with something less fire-prone. Where’s the electrician who will do that in my 29-year-old brain?

4 thoughts on “Last Night, Today, My Life”

  1. Wow – your description is great! So great that it brings tears to my eyes, having felt all of it myself for so long. There have been times that my sound sensitivity almost felt psychotic, like I was hallucinating a suddenly, unbearabley loud world that couldn’t POSSIBLY be real! Sometimes I have to put earplugs in at the grocery store all of a sudden. Then, other times, I can miraculously listen to music again. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes my pain is low, but I can’t stand any noise. Sometimes the pain is high, but I can listen to music or go to a party. Same with all of the many other possible symptoms of migraine – all of the various sensitivities. Sometimes I just can’t stand to have more than one person in the room with me at the same time, but twice in the past year I’ve managed to see a rock band in a small bar and enjoy the hell out of myself. There are times when I can have the radio on in the car IF I’m alone, but I can’t stand to have it on if there is another person in the car with me – too much stimuli. It’s a crazy way to live that’s difficult for others to understand. I’m fortunate to have people in my life who get it, and just turn off the radio when I ask. I’m glad your head got better and you were able to go out. It’s so great when that happens, because of all of the cancelled plans caused by the migraine. Getting out is a real high that I have stopped taking for granted. Thanks for writing.

  2. Wow, some incredible similies for headaches (or is that metaphors. I should know–English major–but I’ve forgotten).

    I hope your headache subsides quickly (((hugs)))).

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