I can’t really remember a time in my life when waking up with searing pain above my eye, or a throbbing so deep that I assume my brain will explode with the my next heartbeat wasn’t normal.
I know that I didn’t have migraines when I was a child, that they came upon me when I became a teenager, when hormones were thrown into the mix of my body, but it feels like this pain has always been there, always been on the back of my mind. And, you know what? It’s starting to wear me the fuck down.
My migraines started in high school, but were very episodic. No big deal, I could pop some Advil and away I went to school or my job. Soon, Advil wasn’t cutting it, though, and naproxen came onto the scene. I loved naproxen and it seemed like the best solution for my pain. However, it didn’t last long. I’ve had a long road of different pain relievers, all working at one time, but never really hitting the pain every time, or for the long-haul. I now know this to be normal for most everyone, but it is one of the most annoying parts of finding something that works only to find out it only works sometimes. Cue the start of fatigue of finding treatments.
Years went by and the migraines only got worse. They went from episodic to chronic, and it was normal for me to have 11-15 migraines a month. I was in pain every single weekend, when my stress let down, causing a migraine, grabbing for pain killers that only sometimes worked. I’d go to my job, feeling like absolute garbage, like my brain was going to explode, as I had already taken two sick days that month. Luckily, I never had a job where anyone counted sick days – if you were sick, then why were you at work? was the thought process.
It took one horrible migraine day where my co-worker brought me to the hospital, one nurse who asked if I took any preventatives (a preventative? I didn’t even know there were such options. I was still riding that naproxen wave), to get me to see a neurologist.
Sure, things got a little better in the migraine department, I went down to two migraine days a month with preventatives, vitamins, and cutting out alcohol and some foods. But by then, the damage had already been done. I was stressed, anxious of when my next attack would occur. I couldn’t work out, something I had loved to do. I had to stop boxing, had to stop any intense physical activity. I could barely go for walks without feeling like I’d get an attack.
I ended up feeling so nervous not to be stressed, that I was making myself stressed. I had a rigid bedtime routine, I had to sleep a specific amount of hours, I could only eat certain foods, I couldn’t have any alcohol, my stomach could barely handle pain killers as I had ripped it to shreds with uncoated naproxen throughout all those years. I worried about my job wanting to fire me (something I know had come up in a previous job, though that work-life balance was very toxic) because I had migraines. I had to quit a previous job I loved due to the stress that exacerbated my migraines.
It was only the beginning of what I would have to change in my life because of these stupid things that came and went as they pleased, wreaking absolute havoc along the way. I didn’t yet know that it would get worse, that the anxiety surrounding my chronic pain would ratchet up to new heights, that I would start to feel hopeless in ever feeling normal, again.
Recently, I went to a bachelorette weekend, armed with everything I usually do in a normal day: I had my acupressure mat, my vitamins, my ginger tea, I was going to bed later than usual, but at a still appropriate time. I brought a fan in case I got too hot in the cabin, which – thankfully – had A/C. It was a bougie place, my friends. I had three sips of wine during the fun wine tasting that was put on, knowing that if I imbibed a little more than that I could end up with a migraine. I ate cherries, having my healthy snack before bed. And yet…I still woke up with one.
The next morning, I quietly sobbed as I realized that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the weekend, that my pain was going to be there all day and not be a quick fix with any drug, that I’d probably end up with one the next day, as well. I packed up my things, trying my best not to wake anyone while I alternated between vomiting and sobbing. I wasn’t upset that I was missing out on the fun, at least, that wasn’t what was giving me these feelings of dread. It was the fact that I couldn’t do anything, anymore, without an impending attack.
I cried while my friend held me, telling her I just wanted to be normal, that I couldn’t do anything, that I couldn’t just have a day, or a night, or a weekend, where my pain was looming, waiting to attack. She told me that my body was being an asshole and had let me down. And, it was true.
My body, something I had my normal doubts about regarding how it looked (or, rather, how magazines said it should look), but still felt very comfortable in and loved. My body that got me through pregnancy and birthed my daughter, showing me just what it can really do. My body, once so strong and lean, ravaged by a neurological disorder, a silent pain that people believe to be ‘just a headache’.
My migraines may not be chronic anymore, they may be only 3-5 a month, but the silent pain is still chronic. The anxiety over wondering if I will get an attack on an airplane, again, or if I will miss out on days while I travel. If I will be able to make plans, or if I’ll have to cancel them. The plans that I have missed, both not important and very. The days that I miss in my daughter’s life because I am unable to take care of her.
The pain isn’t chronic, but the damage has been done. I no longer feel like I can do properly live my life, not how I would like to, not in any way that is considered ‘normal’ (see: waking up without pain being a normal thing). The exhaustion of trying different treatments, the money spent, with nothing truly working as well as it should, is heavy. Thinking outside the box, thinking inside the box, feeling as if it’s futile to even try.
I know I’m not alone in this feeling as there is a huge migraine community out there, and many more who suffer from some sort of debilitating disease or disorder that feel the same as I do. I know that we all need to tweak our lives so we can live them to the best of our ability, to be happy, but also so that we don’t aggravate whatever it is that is ailing us.
But, damn, this silent pain that anyone with chronic pain goes through is exhausting. Perhaps one day I won’t feel the constant pressure and anxiety coursing through my veins, and that gives me the little hope I need to just keep trying.
Juniper and Daisies 