How nice of you to pay a call today. Again. You’ve been my constant companion now for seven days straight. Quite frankly, I’m really growing tired of your company. You’re there when I wake in the middle of the night, you’re there when I go to bed; you’re there first thing in the morning, too.
I’ve tried everything to get you to go away. Prescription medication—it works for a while, but two hours later you’re back again. Over the counter stuff with way more caffeine in it than I need. It rarely works, and always leaves me with that jittery, over-caffeinated feeling. Niacin, that lovely B3 vitamin that makes me feel flushed and warm and makes the tips of my ears burn. Sometimes that will make you go away. But so far nothing has sent you the message to go away and stay away.
What is it this time? Stress? Hormones? Changes to the barometric pressure? What brought you to my doorstep this week? I’d really love to know so I could do something about it. I realize we see more of each other in the summer than we do in winter, but this is ridiculous. We're simply spending way too much time together.
You realize, of course, that when you come all I want to do is lie in a darkened room with an ice pack on my head (don’t feel bad, my mother has much this same effect on me and it doesn’t stop her from visiting, either.) But I can’t do that. My life can’t stop because of you. I’m a mom, I have a job, and a house to keep up. Yet you manage to suck all the joy out of life anyway. I can’t read, the words blur and dance on the page even with my glasses on, so reading to my babies at bedtime is out. I can’t watch TV—the lights are too bright and the moving images make me feel even more dizzy and nauseous than I already do. I can’t do half the things I'd like to, and certainly not with my usual energy. Even the act of walking across the room is painful, every foot fall slams into my brain like a brick wall. Even if I tiptoe. But I’m stubborn so I don’t give in to your demands. I tough it out, until I can tough it no more. I head to bed early, hoping a good night’s sleep will send you packing. I wake in the night, feeling somewhat better and hope that you’ll be gone when morning arrives.
No such luck.
Thus has been the pattern now for seven agonizing, painful days.
I hope you’ll take this message in the spirit it was intended, migraine, and not be offended. We go back a long way, after all--more years than I care to remember. And really migraine, it's not you--it's me. I'm just not that into you. I'd say we can still be friends but there's just too much water under the bridge for that. I think a clean break is best. For both our sakes.
So go away. And don’t come back anytime soon.