Migraines, Joan Didion, and a New Start
Today I read a piece Joan Didion wrote about migraines. She wrote about their medical validity and how they actually cause people to have different personalities. She wrote about how she wishes for home lobotomy calls and how she gave herself icebaths in bed. I laughed. I laughed, remembering the tubes of towels filled with ice cubes I’d grind into my neck and temples and the times I’ve begged Jeff to cut my head clean off. We migraine sufferers have to have a dark sense of humor. I laugh about the time that bitchy woman at my work who was constantly trying to get me fired because clearly I was faking it asked me “why would you take medicine that makes you throw up?” And I had to calmly explain to her that the medicine didn’t make me throw up, the migraine does. The medicine doesn’t do a damn thing, but make me sleep. When really I wanted to push her out of the way and find a dark, quiet place to sleep, but I couldn’t see her at the time, because I was blacking out again. Joan Didion made me laugh today though and she made me think happy thoughts about wisdom and the future, because in the end, she not only ensured everyone that migraines aren’t imaginary, she reminded me what I’ve learned. Over the years, I’ve learned, like she, I have to stop hiding, fighting, blaming, and lying because owning my migraines and who I am is the only way to make it through. Knowing what my body, mind, and soul needs and taking care of myself is the only way to prevent suffering. Even then, suffering comes and in those moments I first can know what I need and second, being a chronic sufferer, I’ve learned quite quickly who will be sticking around. Conversely, I’ve become a pretty sympathetic person to suffering.
I lost sight of some of these things over the last year. Sometimes what my “self” needs is to stop listening to everyone else. I am probably the most indecisive person I’ve ever met, until I’m not. Put any number of favorable choices in front of me and I cannot make a decision. But once I have whittled it down to just one, I will not change my mind. I’m stubborn as hell (just ask my husband) and I’m as caring as anyone can be. I am easily taken advantage of so I am very careful about who I let get close. If I feel hurt or manipulated by someone I cast a dark, cold shadow, but if I am shown love, loyalty, and care I cast a circle of warm sunlight. There are a few exceptions to this, but for the most part, this is the rule. Now the people who I do trust get some input, they’ve earned that, but sometimes, in my indecisiveness, I forget I know what I need. A year ago, 20 pounds ago, a whole lot of medications ago, a lot of adult acne ago (I truly can’t get over this for some reason,) a French television series about the undead ago, a year of picking up kids every two hours ago, an unbearable change in life ago, a whole lot of tears ago, I got a little lost and forgot my wisdom and hope for the future. I made promises I didn’t keep to myself. Today, reading Joan Didion recounting her migraine suffering I was reminded that I am wiser and bigger than how I have been living. After all this time, I know who I am. Hell, I like who I am. When I am taking care of myself, (exercise, eating well, sleeping well, giving myself time for quiet reflection) caring for my family, (dating my husband regularly and working together on a better life; helping my boys be the best versions of themselves and helping them learn to learn and love life and our adventures) spending time with friends, (having fun and soul-feeding conversations) helping people in whatever ways we can, and advancing in my work (education, painting, photography, writing, etc. everyday) then I am happy. Then I am well. Then I am progressing, not just myself, but by putting some good in the world. Everyday. And hoping that is enough, not to reach some divine afterlife or favor, or to obtain validation, but to weigh the good against the bad in the world and in my own soul. At the end of her piece Didion said the end of a migraine was like a circuit breaker where the pain recedes and everything goes with it and she is able to appreciate the beauty in things again. I always feel a little like it’s the breaking of a storm after the rain pours its last, the sun comes out and shines brighter and warmer than you remember. You throw back the curtains and start a new day. I’m ready for that new day.
