Monday, 25 August 2014
Friday, 4 July 2014
Crappy head, crappy mindset
It's a wonder I've kept hold of my sanity, though when I think about it nearly 9 years of pain must have had some effect on my mental abilities too, not just my mental health.
I got through my A-Levels with this brand new, confusing headache. I studied for my degree with an ever-increasing feeling of despair, and disbelief, and graduated with a 1st.
I've been working for 4 years, and still I can get through a normal working day, sometimes a lengthier than normal day, with this head.
But sometimes, I stare at the screen, and the light burns my eyes. Sometimes the noises in the office, of phones and talking, is hard to bare.
Sometimes I wonder how the hell I manage to do anything when it feels like someone is drilling from the inside of my head outwards.
Sometimes it's all I can manage not to cry and admit defeat and just drop my head on my desk and do nothing.
And that's usually when I swallow the pills.
I got through my A-Levels with this brand new, confusing headache. I studied for my degree with an ever-increasing feeling of despair, and disbelief, and graduated with a 1st.
I've been working for 4 years, and still I can get through a normal working day, sometimes a lengthier than normal day, with this head.
But sometimes, I stare at the screen, and the light burns my eyes. Sometimes the noises in the office, of phones and talking, is hard to bare.
Sometimes I wonder how the hell I manage to do anything when it feels like someone is drilling from the inside of my head outwards.
Sometimes it's all I can manage not to cry and admit defeat and just drop my head on my desk and do nothing.
And that's usually when I swallow the pills.
Thursday, 12 June 2014
Don't Let It Get Me
It's hard not to be disappointed. Going to a new alternative therapist, hoping against hope that this one will be different. This one will work wonders.
This one can help you be fixed.
First impressions aren't everything but...my first impressions were not favourable.
This one can help you be fixed.
First impressions aren't everything but...my first impressions were not favourable.
Thursday, 5 June 2014
"So, dude, what do you think's inside that hatch thing?" "Hope. I think hope's inside."
August 2015 is an important anniversary. In 1 year and 2 months I will have had this headache for 10 years.
A decade of pain. A decade of frustration and despair.
A decade of false hope.
I don't want to get to August next year and still be in pain. I want it to stop. I want to be better. I want to be fixed.
When I was told that because I had chronic pain I couldn't bungy jump, I was angry. Angry at my body, my head. Angry at life. I wanted to get this sorted, I wanted it to stop holding me back. I wanted to be free.
So I went to the doctor yesterday, to ask his opinion. To ask someone else what I should be doing, what I could be doing.
I opened the hatch.
And what was inside?
Sorry Locke, but it sure as hell wasn't hope.
I want to be fixed?
It's about time I fixed myself.
Wednesday, 19 February 2014
The roads are bumpy in Tasmania
On my last full day in Tasmania, I emerged from MONA to heat. Actual sunshine, and warmth with it. Standing on the jetty awaiting the arrival of the ferry back to Hobart, I watched the water lapping over the rocks. Again and again and again.
And my mind felt as dark as the water surrounding me.
I imagined myself putting down my handbag, taking off my trainers, removing my sunglasses, and hopping lightly over the glass barrier, plunging into the water. But the water by the jetty is rocky, so I wouldn't just plunge down into the dark, shivery depths; I would fall hard and fast against solid stone.
And I imagined for a moment: what if I did that, and my headaches went away? If I smashed myself against them, would they correct this abomination inside me? Would it die? Would it finally subside and disappear as I have dreamt of it doing countless times?
This headache is like those waves. They break over me again, and again, countless times, never ending.
And I am promised salvation by those that never deliver it. I put my faith and trust in them, and they never deliver the freedom they promise me. It's a wonder my trust isn't used up, that the well of hope hasn't dried up.
It's still full enough to provide me with tears.
On Tuesday, I went most of the day with a headache. A headache I pushed and prodded at, tried to breathe through, that made my head, and my soul, feel heavy. At 6pm I took painkillers. And by 7pm the 8/10 scale headache I had pushed through all day was down to a 3. I could engage with life again.
If I could, I would take painkillers every day. But I am on medication designed to free me from a dependence on them. Frequent painkiller self-medication can and does result in medication overuse headaches and then I'm adding another resident to the can of worms that is my head. And sometimes when I take painkillers, they only take the edge off - taking a 9 down to a 6. But I'm willing to bet anyone else's 9 is my 6 in the first place. I tolerate the pain because what the hell else can I do?
How can a person thrive when every beautiful, amazing, incredible experience is marred by a constant agony?
If a bird or animal in the wild is too ill to carry out it's everyday tasks, it dies.
And yet I live.
And yet I live and there is so much left to see. I am slightly nonplussed by the ancient rainforest and bush of Australia, having seen it a fair few times. But I live for the day I step into the wilderness and am overawed by the sheer scale and beauty this earth is capable of producing.
And yet I live and there is so much left to do. Exploring new places, learning about new cultures. There are mountains to climb, though the first is within me it seems.
Is the answer to ending this abomination inside the very organ causing me such agony? Could my brain hold the key to what is torturing it? Can the healing only come from me?
I am haunted by what was, what is, and what may be. I do not want to live a life where the moments I savour most are marred by pain, or the moments of freedom from that pain are brief, as though they never happened in the first place.
And my mind felt as dark as the water surrounding me.
I imagined myself putting down my handbag, taking off my trainers, removing my sunglasses, and hopping lightly over the glass barrier, plunging into the water. But the water by the jetty is rocky, so I wouldn't just plunge down into the dark, shivery depths; I would fall hard and fast against solid stone.
And I imagined for a moment: what if I did that, and my headaches went away? If I smashed myself against them, would they correct this abomination inside me? Would it die? Would it finally subside and disappear as I have dreamt of it doing countless times?
This headache is like those waves. They break over me again, and again, countless times, never ending.
And I am promised salvation by those that never deliver it. I put my faith and trust in them, and they never deliver the freedom they promise me. It's a wonder my trust isn't used up, that the well of hope hasn't dried up.
It's still full enough to provide me with tears.
On Tuesday, I went most of the day with a headache. A headache I pushed and prodded at, tried to breathe through, that made my head, and my soul, feel heavy. At 6pm I took painkillers. And by 7pm the 8/10 scale headache I had pushed through all day was down to a 3. I could engage with life again.
If I could, I would take painkillers every day. But I am on medication designed to free me from a dependence on them. Frequent painkiller self-medication can and does result in medication overuse headaches and then I'm adding another resident to the can of worms that is my head. And sometimes when I take painkillers, they only take the edge off - taking a 9 down to a 6. But I'm willing to bet anyone else's 9 is my 6 in the first place. I tolerate the pain because what the hell else can I do?
How can a person thrive when every beautiful, amazing, incredible experience is marred by a constant agony?
If a bird or animal in the wild is too ill to carry out it's everyday tasks, it dies.
And yet I live.
And yet I live and there is so much left to see. I am slightly nonplussed by the ancient rainforest and bush of Australia, having seen it a fair few times. But I live for the day I step into the wilderness and am overawed by the sheer scale and beauty this earth is capable of producing.
And yet I live and there is so much left to do. Exploring new places, learning about new cultures. There are mountains to climb, though the first is within me it seems.
Is the answer to ending this abomination inside the very organ causing me such agony? Could my brain hold the key to what is torturing it? Can the healing only come from me?
I am haunted by what was, what is, and what may be. I do not want to live a life where the moments I savour most are marred by pain, or the moments of freedom from that pain are brief, as though they never happened in the first place.
Monday, 20 January 2014
Heh-day-key
Break the head down into chunks,
Chunks that hurt and chunks that don’t.
Chunks that burn and boil and boom,
And chunks that can’t, chunks that won’t.
Dissect me into pieces,
And take my mind apart.
Break into the sections,
And pack away the heart.
There’s a fire raging forward,
Tearing limb from limb,
Leading me into lava
Where I’m struggling to swim.
There’s a dragon sitting on my neck,
Breathing flames into my skull.
Burning muscle bone and even breath,
And the rest is left quite dull.
When you spiralling down a whirl of pain,
Leaving it hard to see.
You wonder how much longer,
This can even be.
There’s a fire raging forward,
Your courage eradicated.
Unstoppable until
You’ve slept or ate or medicated.
You’re broken, oh so broken
Split right through the head.
There’s still a small-ish part of you,
That wishes you were dead.
And so the migraine passes,
The pain has left , hooray!
It’ll just come back though, it always does
The headache that never goes away.
Thursday, 24 October 2013
Short Term Gain, Long Term Pain
Think about where you are right now in your life. Maybe think about your job, your relationships, friends and hobbies. Think about your health.
Now think about where you'll be in 5 years time. Whether you'll be in the same job, be with the same person. Whether your health will still be the same.
My acupuncturist today talked about how, 5 years into the future, my headache won't be such an important part of my life.
But how can he know that? How can anyone know that? How can I dare to hope that?
When you have chronic pain, you forget what life was like before it. You forget what it feels like to move without things aching, to wake up and spring out of bed. You can't remember the last week you went without trying some sort of pain relief, whether it be conventional medicine or otherwise. It still feels like regardless of any improvements over the last year, I still cannot envision a day without my headache. Without at least once a day going "ooof that hurts" or "urgh that aches".
But my headache HAS improved in the last year. I've gone from needing deep heat on everyday, to every so often. I take painkillers less than once a week, when it used to be a miracle if I went a few days without them.
I still crack and rub and generally wish away the pain, but I can't deny that there's been some change.
But some change doesn't feel like anything when you've been putting up with this for 8 years. And when a general improvement is punctuated with moments so dark, so distressing and so deeply agonising that you can barely gasp for breath, it doesn't feel like anything has gotten better really.
As I write this, my head aches and my neck is so sore. When you've read this, and you go back to whatever you were doing, my head will still ache, my neck will still be sore, and I will still be thinking about 5 years time.
Maybe, in 5 years time, I will be free.
Now think about where you'll be in 5 years time. Whether you'll be in the same job, be with the same person. Whether your health will still be the same.
My acupuncturist today talked about how, 5 years into the future, my headache won't be such an important part of my life.
But how can he know that? How can anyone know that? How can I dare to hope that?
When you have chronic pain, you forget what life was like before it. You forget what it feels like to move without things aching, to wake up and spring out of bed. You can't remember the last week you went without trying some sort of pain relief, whether it be conventional medicine or otherwise. It still feels like regardless of any improvements over the last year, I still cannot envision a day without my headache. Without at least once a day going "ooof that hurts" or "urgh that aches".
But my headache HAS improved in the last year. I've gone from needing deep heat on everyday, to every so often. I take painkillers less than once a week, when it used to be a miracle if I went a few days without them.
I still crack and rub and generally wish away the pain, but I can't deny that there's been some change.
But some change doesn't feel like anything when you've been putting up with this for 8 years. And when a general improvement is punctuated with moments so dark, so distressing and so deeply agonising that you can barely gasp for breath, it doesn't feel like anything has gotten better really.
As I write this, my head aches and my neck is so sore. When you've read this, and you go back to whatever you were doing, my head will still ache, my neck will still be sore, and I will still be thinking about 5 years time.
Maybe, in 5 years time, I will be free.
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