Tuesday, February 16, 2010
falls apart, slowly...
Migraines are destroying me. Two weeks ago while cutting a grapefruit, an electric current cut through my head. It was the act of stabbing- the way my wrist and my arm tensed in quick jabs to cut through the fruit- that caused the sudden onslaught of pain.
The headache lasted for two weeks. It ebbed at times, and I was able to sit and write for a few hours, go to the food store, take the dog for a walk. These little things were huge triumphs for me. Other days I didn't get out of bed, knowing if I moved a muscle or tormented my eyes with sunlight, the headache would come rushing back full force.
Some people drive fast. Some people smoke things, drink things. Some people, like my roomate's boyfriend, chew up and swallow a glass cup (on a dare). They all turn out fine, but I- I can't get away with SLICING A GRAPEFRUIT.
When I wasn't alone, I spent most of my time with Will. I was a miserable person to be around- all distance and helplessness punctuated with sudden, urgent demands: Turn off the music, close the shades, help me get out of bed, I can't finish the dishes, shut the door. Stop talking, I'd say, I can't hear anything right now. And then, five minutes later when the pain mysteriously evaporated, I'd become agitated, animated, scared to death that I had pushed him away for good this time. Talk to me! I'd plead. Tell me what you're thinking! Let's go outside- let's do something together.
We'd agree to go outside for a walk. He'd go to the other room to get his coat, and when he came back I'd be flat again, curled into a crescent in the sheets, pain once again blossoming behind my right eye. Turn the light off- I'd tell him. Shut the door.