United States

Read. Write. Repeat.

Message from Writer

Even when you don't like your work, someone out there will. Write forward, don't read back on what you've done.

Pop Culture of a Migraine

April 3, 2019

Will my headaches ever go away?
I feel like they should;
I feel like I’ve suffered enough hours of constant pain,
harassing my mind until my vision jumps and zooms and freezes-
a camera roll cracked on each frame of its existence.
My every thought is consumed by the knocking on wood.
It hurts.
    It hurts.
        IT HURTS.
The words are like a drumbeat in my mind that never stops.
The pain hums in a loop of
buh-d-THUMP buh-d-THUMP buh-d-THUMP
and nothing I do helps.
I just want everything to stop,
like one of those cliche freeze frames
where everything pauses for one pivotal minute
so I can live without life moving forward-
the butterfly effect under my control for those
sixty crucial seconds
of peace        and quiet.

And time might pass,
but my headaches don’t.
They’ve gotten worse,
but the reason eludes me.
Is it stress?        School?    (The whispering behind my back or the workload?)
Or am I just messed up in the head?
Maybe something’s wrong,
but who would I ask if something was?
The doctors are useless.
The last time I went all they did was prescribe trouble
parading around in a mask they called medicine.
New torture techniques-
beyond those
of waterboarding
and starvation at its barest levels-
for my “nasal induced” headaches,
which was basically fancy talk for
“We think some flu caused your headaches and is still affecting you months later”.

The pills were blue    and purple
and all they did was sharpen the pain.
From dull, radiating caresses to
sharp knives attacking my skull.
Like a silent killer let loose to wreak havoc
on whatever sanity still existed in my head.
It was all the horror villains rolled into one-
Pennywise and Hannibal Lecter and Michael Myers
all relaxing in the room upstairs.
A nightmare street even worse than Elm’s,
created by my own Freddy Krueger and Wes Craven.
My vision became a Jigsaw puzzle of broken glass,
each piece sold off to the highest bidder.
But since the headaches were no longer constant,
the doctors counted it as a win-
One for the headache,
zero to me.
And those blue and purple pills
set up their little gift shop of horrors,
corroding my mind with rusted Screams
and pleas left unanswered.
My head was left to the guillotine    with no chance of escape.

Why won’t they believe me,
when I say my headaches are worse?
They’re back,        and no matter what I say or do,    they won’t go away.
Maybe if I yelled out something,
like in the movie Jumanji,
my headaches would finally leave me to my peace and quiet,
and I’d be able to complete this level
in the game of life.
There would be no farewell party
or tears shed-
Just a “See ya never”
and I’d push this unwanted guest out the door.
It’s a foolish thought,
but what do I have to lose?
Everything else has failed me;
The doctors,
my family,
I wish there was a way
to escape the confines of my mind
and the world surrounding me.
Like a scene out of Alice and Wonderland
where I could forget my troubles
and exist in my imagination
just for a little while.
But the world doesn’t have that for me.
Instead it holds something else,
more of an Ender’s Game twist at the end,
where instead of an escape I’m given more
troubles and worries that plague me.

And yet,
I still want a way to escape,
even with those strings attached.
Is that really so much to ask for?


See History

Login or Signup to provide a comment.