Written by @LacedwithLove Follow her on Instagram or Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lacedwithlove/
To the outside world it would appear as though I’m perfectly okay, and that rings true, until I’m not.
Tonight you knocked me flat on my arse. It’s impossible to be stoic and once again I’m rendered useless by your grip. And so the all too familiar routine begins.
There is no warning.
No provocation on my behalf, not that I can pinpoint despite years of endeavouring to placate you.
Throbbing in my head, eyes, ears and neck. Relentless like a jackhammer so impossible to ignore. Vision reduced significantly.
One eye completely dark while pixels dance about like a kaleidoscope in the other.
Nausea rolling in like waves on the shoreline.
Sometimes it’s actually a relief to vomit as the pressure in my head gives up momentarily. Who knew being violently ill could also spark some type of relief?! That’s if I don’t faint first and miss it all completely.
I cower from the light as I crawl to bed in a desperate attempt to escape your touch.
You’re the part of myself I hate.
The only element of my makeup I hope my children don’t inherit.
You make them scared to see their Mummy so weak. I can barely see their faces awash with worry but even in my incapacitated state, I can feel the concern, heavy on my five years olds burdened shoulders.
When you take hold I’ve been known to whisper my wish to die.
You make me incapable.
You make me dependent.
You rob me of my sanity.
You occasionally even rip away my dignity.
When you finally leave me weak and dazed, I live in angst of your return.
I won’t let you own me.
I won’t let you define me.
I won’t let you control me.
I wish I knew your trigger.
I wish I wasn’t reliant on medications to aid me through your attacks and I’m sick of having to strategically map a backup plan for the eventuality of an attack.
I long for a body that doesn’t fail me at any given moment.
I am one of many living with an invisible chronic illness. If anyone you know suffers from #migraines, be kind, be patient. This isn’t a disorder we’d wish upon our worst enemy. We’re not attention seeking. We’re not being dramatic. We long for having ‘just a headache’!
