The Beast

First, the nausea hits like a fist hard to the stomach, and lingers. The ache begins at the back of my neck and then swarms, covering my skull. Ah, SHIT. Not again. I stand, and then the throbbing begins. I take a step, and must close my eyes against the relentless pounding; close them against the stabbing swords of light aiming for my brain. The tears slip out under my shut-tight eyelids, as I stumble in slow motion to my room. Blinds closed, drapes closed against the otherwise cheerful sunshine. Doors closed, blocking the sounds that make explosions in my head, making the nausea rise in waves. Ease carefully into bed, moving so slowly, trying to keep an even keel, trying not to rock the boat of my head, causing the waves of pain to pound so much harder on the shore of my consciousness. My hands press the pillow over my eyes to keep out whatever light seeps through chinks in the window coverings, and then down over my ears to make the world that much more silent. Alone in the quiet unmoving darkness I stop fighting it, and let it wash over me, knowing there’s no way out but through. I try to meditate. I breathe. I cry. Above all I try to be still. It might be hours. It’s sometimes days. I sleep if it lets me – The Headache. Like a stalking beast, I feel its presence always; whether it’s tearing me to bits, or hovering just behind me waiting to pounce. Eventually it calms, and I can live again.

I move about my world, and try to be productive while I can. I smile and laugh with the ones who love me, and stay with me even through this. I do the things that need doing. And then. SHIT. That fist in my belly. And it starts again.

Migraine affects more people than we imagine: over 4 million Americans suffer from chronic migraine, which takes at least 15 days of our lives each month. It binds us with pain: what could we accomplish if we were free?