My eyes cling to the inside of their sockets with gritty and excruciating agonies, as my fingertips tentatively probe pulsing temples and press, release, press, release…
Close eyes, open eyes, close eyes, open eyes, as the icepack shocks against my flaming forehead.
I wonder at what point I might succumb to this pressure. Might weaken for good. Might transform into nothing more than the physical manifestation of a migraine. Another being.
A grey mass appears within my peripheral vision, and moves closer. Each action of this blurred shape makes me wince.
A cat. My cat. It makes a sound – a high-pitched yowling – and my foot automatically kicks out to make it stop. My cat cries and scurries off, its footfalls thudding vibrations throughout my frame. Later I’ll feel sorry, but for now, no. I am suffering the self-obsession of the unwell.
Blue light. White light. Speckled orange clusters. I beg for my vision to normalise. I beg whoever or whatever is out there to take away this feeling and to take me back to my ordinary self.
My lids close. But it’s no relief. I’m painfully aware that my eyes still see, though their curtains to the world are drawn. Speckles of light. Blotches of light. Lightning flashes of agony.
I lay my head, as gently as I am able, onto my pillow. It has already been scented with a lilac night time spray. It is supposed to prevent headaches, or heal them as you sleep, but now the smell is stifling. I can’t bear it.
I carry my soon-to-explode skull tentatively to another unscented pillow, and as it lays itself down, the pressure behind my dulled orbs threatens to pop like a boil of badness.
Neck pain. Nose pain. Cheek pain. Socket pain.
Shoulder pain. Back pain. Chest pain. Fingernail pain. Ear pain.
Each and every follicle pain.
A dull, heavy ache in my heart pain.
The ‘wearing my soul in a crash helmet’ pain.
The ‘wish it was all over’ pain.
The ‘floating above it all’ pain.
The ‘ceiling hovering’ pain.
The ‘wait and see’ pain.