I knew it was going to be a rough day today before it even really started–back when the alarm was just going off and I had to peel myself out from between the moutains of pillows I clung to for most of my slumber. I felt the need to throw up for the duration of the bike ride into work–the air smelled like thick car fumes, hot garbage, and the cigarettes of chainsmokers perched at the bus stops in increments along the road.
Once at work, I changed in the bathroom and cleaned myself up from sweaty mess to respectable worker. The elevator stopped running on floor 20, so I walked the remaining 11 flights to the office, reverting back into a sweaty mess in record time. The roofers are working on the building again, so the crazyharsh chemical smells are swirling around the air of our department again. So much for kicking this migraine.
This is day 3 of this migraine, brought on by a too-perfect storm of hormones and going too hard socially. Day three is usually where I start to get worn down from nonstop hurting and/or sleeping to rid myself of the pain, so I start to feel a little delirious. I get angry and all actions are bordered by this fuzziness I cannot rightly explain–it is just a fuzziness and it is there, on everything. Day three and still in pain means I don’t have a choice when I get home today. It means I’m going right to bed. I don’t really have time to mourn the losee of yet another day/evening–it is what it is. Being awake hurts.
I try to keep my head up about these things. After all, I’ve had these things for 23ish years–you would think that I could’ve established a bit of grace by now. But no. Every migraine attack turns me into a freaked out, kicking and crying baby, feeling isolated and rejected from normalcy in general. There’s simply no normal to be had in the throes of it–even now while typing this I am at my work desk leaning all the way down and back in my chair, right side of the head pressed to the cushion as if that’s going to solve anything. Two more hours to go. I worry about the bike ride home–what if one of these days I ride with a migraine and fall? Guess I’ll keep pushing my luck til it happens.
Sometimes all I want and need at a time like this is for someone to say it’s going to be okay. For someone to execute physical contact–to just touch the side of my head with a palm or to take my hand and say “it’s going to be okay.” To be taken care of a little bit. That’s all I’ve wanted today, all I’ve craved is some little bit of human contact, someone to hold my head, to brush my hair back from my forehead and say it’s going to be okay. Even if you feel like you are dying it’s going to be alright. And you’ll get through it, you’ll get through it all like a champ because that’s what you do. You push through, you press on. You survive.