Or, Living with Chronic Migraines

It starts in third grade when your mom buys Juicy Juice instead of the tiny cans
of Tree Top apple juice and suddenly the sun is way too bright and the smiling
cartoon Jesus in your religion workbook looks all technicolor and sinister and l
ike hes talking mad shit to Zacchaeus. And you go home and sleep all day instead
of playing Rockstar Submarine Pilots (real game we played) with your neighbors.
On the last day of your freshman year of high school, you get trapped in the una
irconditioned auditorium for a special mass for the graduating seniors. Youre wea
ring your uniform blazer whose sleeves you havent learned to cuff yet because your
e a fucking goober and now youre sweating to death through your ill-fitting Limit
ed Too bra and Peter Pan collar shirt. The music is too loud and the noise on th
e street outside seems to come and go in waves. When you get home your dad is wa
tching Buckaroo Banzai and you pass out on the couch with the left side of your
head squeezed between two stiff Ikea couch cushions. You realize that when you g
et sick like this, your brain latches on to the last vaguely musical thing it he
ard and repeats it over and over and over again.
Some things your brain has played for you on repeat: Jeff Goldblums laugh, Weeeee
welcome you to munchkin land tra la la la la la la la la la la la, The extended 3
0 Rock theme from the official show soundtrack, The first verse of Hail Holy Quee
n, The trumpets from Crazy in Love, The Jurassic Park theme

Theyll tell you its hormones. Theyll tell you its stress. Theyll say its also what yo
eat, how often you sleep and how bright the sun is that day. Theyll say its becau
se you have small veins. They tell you to take Tylenol knowing full well it will
do fuck all.
Your brain will just say, Fuck you.
Eat sweets on an empty stomach?
Migraine.
Salt?
Migraine.
Less than 7 hours of sleep?
Hope you enjoyed that extra episode of Bobs Burgers you watched last night, you d
umb night-owl turd, because youre paying for it today!
You learn to cope. You stop eating pretty much fucking anything fun because it w
ill hurt you. You dont drink beer. You dont drink wine. You get really neurotic ab
out your sleep schedule. You dont go to the beach. You keep your entire house lik
e the goddamn ice castle from Frozen that is apparently still a thing. You have
mild traction alopecia on the left side of your hairline and eyebrow from shovin
g that side of your face (its always that side, behind your left eye) into your p
illows. You drink a lot of caffeine but you dont eat any cheese.
Your doctor prescribes you 50mg of Imitrex for the really bad headaches but what
she doesnt realize is that theyre all really bad headaches. Every time you go to
pick up the nine pills (NINE) youre allowed every month they always just give you
your birth control by accident instead of the Imitrex. It reminds you that none
of your Health Care Professionals warned you that taking Imitrex on your period
makes you bleed like a Law & Order victim.
You call out of work and lie because no one would buy that you just had a very ba
d headache.

You turn off all the lights and close the blackout drapes your mother bought you
for just such occasions (Which was very sweet of her and you really dont need to
be such a shit all the time.) and turn off all the lights and put your Sharper
Image tower fan less than a foot from your bed. You take your pills and vaguely
fantasize about being a formless entity without a head for headaches. You fall a
sleep while your brain replays Kendricks part in Freedom over and over and over aga
in.
Your brain is an asshole.