If you’re tired of me talking about migraines/chronic pain, you can save yourself some trouble and stop reading now.

Emerging from another warped cocoon–I’ve been fighting the same migraine for days now. Yesterday I had to call in sick and sleep my way out of it. A sleep complete with nightmares that left me waking with the most incredible craving for soy ice cream. The kind of craving that (seriously) brought tears to my eyes.

Wednesday evening in class, a girl sat next to me…the usual girl who sits next to me. She was wearing a perfume too strong for me and the edges of my brain were curling up already–within me a voice gently increasing in panic saying, “Oh no oh no oh no no no…” because I was already there, tipping over a threshold and the fragrance gave one more shove to make it certain. In this mode I’m vulnerable to everything–headlights, heavy foot steps, voices raised, and my god the smells. The smell of perfume, the smell of burning.

After class there is a sweet one waiting for me and I’m fighting the tears and the lump in my throat when I see him, because I have to say hello with “sorry I’m feeling so sick…” and a part of me feels that I’ve ruined yet another evening. The night before I missed my inksister’s reading, the night before that I missed everything because I crashed for 12 hours after work. Can I have my time back, please? Some moments without wincing or wondering when I can feel normal again?

Yesterday, I slept and slept hard. I woke up long enough for bathroom breaks and bread(as the only thing I could stomach), I lay in bed before falling asleep in awe of my left hand in a weird stiffened claw, my confusion, the complexity of walking up and down stairs. Migraines are stupid and invisible–they ruin everything. I worry they are hurting me internally; I worry about “the BIG ONE.” This morning I had a tearful conversation with a co-worker, who also experiences migraines. I have to go back to the doctor. I hate the idea of starting the process all over again–the trials of medications and tests, the questions, etc. I tell my co-worker with careful, slow words: There is a part of me that is ashamed to go to the doctor again, to admit I have an illness because I want my life to be normal so badly that I am constantly rebelling against the idea that this is a part of me and I have to address it. I am scared to go on medication for good. I am scared to go through the process and once again receive zero answers. I am scared to be disappointed by the question mark. I’m scared to hear “There’s nothing we can do for you.” I’m scared to have another one. I’m scared to admit all of this. I worry that my friends think I’m a flake. I want to quit acting like a stubborn teenager about my pain–quit doing the things that do not help.

I’m going to just suck it up and go back to seeing a professional. It’s a tiring process but anything is better than letting it happen to me. So it begins. I’ll keep you posted.