On Migraines, Pain, and Creativity

I’m a migraine sufferer. Have been since I was little. Talk about extremes, a physiological trip with precipitous highs and lows. It’s not just the pain, which is considerable, and its dulling aftermath, but the emotions that go with it. There’s the dread you’d expect when you know it’s coming, and then the unfortunate fact that migraine sufferers’ happy-making, pain-fighting neurotransmitter serotonin is taken up too quickly and then runs dry. With the cruel sharp epicenter in the temple or over the eye, and soon the neck and jaw feeling, to me anyway, as if they’re turning to a stone hardened by ache, comes every babbling demon, every judgment of yourself you’ve been negotiating with, every cold-sweat fear for yourself or others. You blame yourself for bringing it on, too—what did I do, eat, or drink, or fail to do, eat, or drink? Did I sleep too long or too little? Did I not take my meds soon enough? Not exercise