Defining a Migraine

Sitting in a room with NO migraine made me aware of the profound difference of having one versus not having one. When a migraine starts to infiltrate, it lines up on the horizon with an amazing arsenal of destructive devices, positioning itself for an attack not only on my brain but on my psyche and my senses. When I don’t have a migraine, sounds (background, or foreground), color, shapes and the light in the room blend to form a harmonious picture of the present. When I feel a migraine coming on, everything starts to stratify, everything that is normally blended seamlessly begins to have its own definition, its own outline. Sounds, colors, shapes and light all separate into their own entities that collide with each other. They do not meld anymore. Light becomes rays with razorblade edges, sound splits into a collage of sharp corners. If I am in a restaurant and I start to feel a migraine descend from its perch, background sounds break apart to form individual noises, all competing to be heard. The sounds of forks scraping plates, chairs being pushed away from tables, busboys loudly stacking and clearing the dishes and clanking the glasses, conversations at other tables all come forward and each one stands alone as an individual sound that clashes discordantly.

All these separate sounds that normally create one sound called background noise stand out separately like a notebook that has been rampaged and torn apart and strewn into a heap of wadded up papers. At the same time that sounds become magnified, I cannot concentrate on any one sound, nor any one conversation. If I am sitting with friends at the restaurant, I have to really force myself from withdrawing to remain in the conversation. It is like sensory overload and I shut down. As the migraine takes hold, I tend to only participate in a listening way, and cannot add anything. It just takes too much effort to put thoughts into words and sentences. Migraine is related to stroke. I know what stroke victims feel like who cannot find their words.

Colors severalize. Bright colors become gaudy. The colors of the tablecloths, peoples’ clothes and the restaurant decor struggle for dominance. Food, too, plays a role in the disharmony of the world. I start to feel nauseous and cannot eat. The texture of each bite is too pronounced, too exaggerated. Flavor becomes overwhelming, like a caricature of food.

Then comes the pain. It can start as a nagging, sharp pain in the back of my neck. Or it might start just above my left eye as a throb on full throttle. The pain is like someone is doing brain surgery from the inside. It is absolutely relentless, not letting up for a second. Labor pains were easier. Although labor hurts like no other, at least there is down time between the contractions. A migraine forces me to go to bed with an ice pack to try to relieve some of the pain. Curtains must be hermetically sealed. Everyone in my family is familiar with having to pull my bedroom curtains tighter so no light can slip through the gaps. The only relief besides narcotics is sleep. But sleep is only a bandage that does nothing to stop the migraine from ravaging me on the inside. Severe migraines affect my thinking. Like a picky eater playing with his food, migraine pushes my thoughts around, finding one thought to turn over and over with his fork. This becomes the obsessive thought. And the thought is never pleasant; it would be the spaghetti that glommed together. That thought, like a shard of a bad dream, repeats itself over and over. The only way I can stop the obsessive thoughts is if I concentrate on thinking of something pleasant. I used to picture myself leaning against a solitary tree, looking out over a grassy meadow. But then the breezes would come. They would blow the grasses back and forth. That back and forth movement hurt to look at, similar to the feeling of being on a fast carousel. So I have had to change my meditation. I now picture myself leaning against a solitary tree, looking over a meadow covered in snow. No motion. No color. Just the peace of white nothingness. Is it similar to the peace of death?