Pain, The Universal Equalizer

Brain Demons

I went to bed yesterday before dinner, hell, it was closer to lunch than dinner now that I think about it. I went upstairs to lie down because I had a migraine. I don’t bother trying to put the migraines in the “Top 10 I Have Ever Had” territory since they hit nearly every day. Still, I know when one is terrible, and I want to talk about why last night was unusually unsettling for me.

Generally, when I get a migraine, it is a miniature sun just behind my left eye. A heat that grows more and more intense until certain things occur, systematically and always in the same order a far as I can remember.

First, I will get incredibly nauseous. Anyone who has had a lousy headache, never mind any migraine activity, can relate to this. Think hangover headache with that still drunk need to puke.

Second, the vertigo sets in. Standing because an endurance sport and even sitting at an upward angle gets too much after a short time. I have never been a fan of the room spinning, I am sure I am not alone there. What makes it worse is that the spinning, again for my case, is multi-axis. The room spins yes, but then it does a delightful Rubiks Cube thing and does the same job on the vertical axis of my Universe.

Thirdly is what I like to call the buffet. At this point, I have put myself to bed or, if I am with someone in the know, been put to bed. Vomiting, Nose Bleeds happen most of the time. However, Disorientation, Cotton Mouth, Excessive Sweating, Chills, and Hot Flashes have been known to crop up. Plus, let us never forget, the ever piercing and growing pain of that fiery microcosm in the center of my skull.

Lastly, and it is always the last thing to happen before the end, I lose hope. See, no one ever talks about the psychological impact of being in constant pain. They are all busy telling you it is all fake, grab an ice pack, take two aspirin and be a man, or whatever gender expression you desire.

I cry a lot. I lay on my bed, and I weep, and I feel no shame in it because pain is a universal feeling. Not one of us alive has ever not shed a tear when our bodies’ pain has reached a certain point.

Irony? The crying makes the pain worse, and I feel more pathetic, and it is a cycle that goes on and on until one of two things happen, leading to the same conclusion.

One, I pass out from the pain. My brain gets to a certain point, and then some deep and reptilian part of it shuts off to ensure that I can survive the thing. It is a terrifying thing, lying in bed watching a show or even just staring at the wall. Suddenly, it is 8, sometimes 12 hours later. My seizures occasionally hit me like this, but unlike them, this is almost an instant thing, Ia m in Point A, then I am Point B. No dreaming, no waking up a minute to roll over, just straight unconsciousness.

Two, and I suppose this is the better of the two scenarios, I go to sleep. It is a dark and stormy sleep as the migraine isn’t gone. Like a thunderstorm at night, though, I can hear the thunder of the pain. Still, it is somehow distant, occurring in a slightly different locale.

Then, with both, I wake up, usually very early in the morning, and I fight again. I look forward to the battle because, one day, I will learn how to defeat them ultimately, or I will simply learn to deal with the pain better.

Now uplifting, but I needed to get it out of my head, and you were lucky enough to hang on for the ride.

The More Things Stay The Same, The More They Change

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I suppose it should matter that it is Saturday. I know it does to my friends in the ether who are gainfully employed and can rest from their burdens for a few days before going to serve the greater good once more in their chosen professions. For those of you, loving souls who work today and tomorrow as well know I have not forgotten you and I value your sacrifice and dedication just as much as those who work the weekdays alone.

Then there’s me, the unemployed guy with kids who haven’t been to physical school buildings since march and has had to look at his phone every day he has wanted to know the day of the week since very early May. It doesn’t matter what day it is in the long and the short of it, not to me. I mean, we don’t watch network TV, we don’t go anywhere, we don’t do anything. So, Day A is just as monotonous as Day R and even then I can’t tell the difference.

It is more annoying than distressing I suppose. I am sure there are some long-term psychological issues with quarantine I am not familiar with, but I am pretty sure that defeating COVID is far more important than anything that I might want to go out and do and I refuse to bring an illness that might not attack me as virulently back to people who it would decimate in every way.

My brain is very sludge-like today, so I am now going to string random things together until I don’t want to write anymore, sounds like a plan, no?

Yeah, I miss some of you WAY more than others. This is not something you are supposed, to be honest about when people ask about it. I am not going to lie and say you are in the top twenty of my People if you are simply not. If you can not accept that, that is your issue to work on internally, not my issue to change to suit the needs you have.

Who wouldn’t want to see their best and closest friends first? Isn’t that why you give them, justifiably it is mostly a negative thing, a ranking of “best” or “closest” in the first place? If I just wanted to see people I can just sit my fat ass on my stairs and wave at the hundreds of people who come down here every day to buy there stupidly illegal herbal supplements.

I want to hug my best friend and have her do that thing where she makes me believe the world isn’t completely waste and needs to be purged in a fire. I want to hug my Air Traffic Coordinator and spin them in a circle and make airplane noises because I am infantile and the thought of doing that gives me a laugh every time. I want to see the kids of my friends. I want to see the Warrior Princess and stun her with my fly-catching abilities, I want to give bro-hugs, to be a Bruncle, to see if you can play the guitar, to see how gigantic you have got since the last time I got to see you.

Writing sappy emails is fine and dandy, hell I do that out of quarantine, but being able to say those things to your face and make sure by your reaction I am not going to maudlin, or idiotic for that matter, is so much better than that. To see your eyes is everything, you know that, right?

I have a migraine. Yeah, yeah I know I always do. It is a bad one and I have been trying, successfully thus far if you are reading this on Saturday at all, to not go back to bed and sleep until the pain is gone and I can’t feel any feelings anymore, because I don’t want to do that thing right now, it is hard and sometimes you are allowed to do the whole “put down your labors, O ye weary traveler, and rest” thing, right? Maybe I am misremembering my Torah though, it has been a few decades since Hebrew.

I have been reading Edward Lee for the last few days. Now, if you don’t like gore-for-the-sake-of-it, nearly illegally pornographic, horror writers, maybe don’t click on that link. However, if you want to read wonderful books like Lucifer’s Lottery and Carnal Surgery, (for those that may ask, no, there are no affiliate links attached, I am not that kind of an asshole.) then I highly encourage you to read them. Despite the purposeful provocateur approach taken in the writing, the style is beautiful and if you happen to be a fan of philosophy, especially Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, he is your go-to horror writer.

A sweet kitten has just clued me into a thing dysphoric mania, or a mixed state. Think of it as being manic and depressed at once, which is pretty much hitting the nail on the head for where I am right now. I am exhausted and can’t sleep, I don’t want to do anything but sat and spent three hours organizing my Dropbox into a few dozen sub-folders this morning. I will be talking with people to see if I can get any assistance with this, but in the day and age of COVID, well, we will see what can be done.

Yeah, I think I am done now. I have all the thoughts to write all the things, but the energy to move the fingers is gone, so I guess that is what people would call a cue to disperse activities.

Be careful. Love One Another. Wear Your Masks. Stay The Fuck Home if you don’t have to go out. Flatten The Curve. Wash Your Hands. Socially Distance. Yes, I am very sick and very tired of saying this to the fucking imbeciles who need to hear me say it over and over again.

I am tired.

Goddess Love With All Of You, and, as always, until next time, I Bid You, Peace.

Lessons From A Quarantined Bear Who Is Tired Of Buffonery.

CreepyBear

Let’s go ahead and mark yesterday off as a bad day and go ahead and start fresh, m’kay?

Thanks.

As much as I would love to go into a political tirade this morning, I simply, truly, do not have the energy. So, instead I will stay a little more in my lane and talk about the stupidity of those who seem to think that they know things that others don’t, that they are better than experts because they saw a thing on Facebook, and of course those who received their doctorates and degrees from the divine and all-knowing Google University.

I am a mere human. I know that I am wrong. I know there are people even within my own peer group, yeah, I’m talking about you two, that are a thousandfold smarter than I can ever hope to become. Not because I am stupid, I am not by any means, I just know where the end of my knowledge lays and where the expertise of others is better to listen to than the three minutes of Google-Fu I may have engaged in previous to knowing that I should stop and talk to people who know things. I have made errors, oh so many, but I tend to leave things like science, space, money, and math to people who got out of 9th-grade math and weren’t banned from taking Chemistry to do their extra-curricular proclivities.

So, in the day and age of COVID-19, when the President of the United States gets to be the example of the way not to do things, I go ahead and I listen REALLY close to the scientists in my life. When, and ONLY WHEN, they tell me that the odds of me getting myself, Terry, my babies or anyone else killed is at least reduced to pre-COVID levels, y’all can go ahead and shove your in-person invites up your ass and I will proselytize the good word that is Quarantine.

No, it is not a time to “use your personal judgment” when it comes to attending anything larger than dinner at your table at home. Why? Well, the fact that you had to ask is a problem in and of itself, but if I need to explain, which I apparently do, there is no such thing as “YOU” in the sense you are thinking of when it comes to a pandemic. I am all for bodily autonomy in all things, but fuck you if your “choice” ends up giving me and mine a potentially deadly disease to which there is no current reliable treatment or vaccine.

Is you going to a bar worth the lives of someone, of someone’s children, their parents? Where do you draw the line? How many people need to die before you see it as a bad thing?

Next. Apparently I have some energy.

For the next person who tells me that I am letting down my family and friends with my migraines and I need to get over myself, I want to share, graphically, which I did last night at three in the morning.

Skip this is if you know what a migraine is.

It didn’t feel right as it was, but when I stood up I knew I had about ten seconds to get to where I needed to be before I was going to do it anyway. Gratefully, my bedroom door is a single Bear-Step away from the bathroom and as I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet, with tears of pain streaming down my face, all I wanted to do was reach behind me onto the sink and find a way to make my left eye collapse so it would feel less like it was pushing out of my skull. This thought was interrupted by my nose bleeding into the vomit, what a pretty sight that was.

Resume reading if you know what a migraine is.

I don’t care if you believe me or not, I am far past thinking you may or may not think I am faking it, I am past caring if you have the desire or even the ability to empathize with another human being in unspeakable pain.

You don’t get to tell me I am failing my family. No, no you get to do nothing even remotely close to that and if you do it again, I am will tell everyone EXACTLY how you failed yours, David.

Next.

Do not get me wrong, if I was not feeling substantially better I would not be writing this. I can sit up, keep my eyes open, think, caffeinated, all without thus far getting nauseous or wanting to kill myself.

I like to call that a “morning”.

To end on a better note than what I apparently have been writing on I wanted to tell you all something.

See, for months and months now we have all been trapped to some degree or another in situations we do not want to be in. Kids home from school, loss of work, even just being unable to leave the house. However, I need to tell you that this is so far away from over. We need to be diligent and do what doctors say, not what a reality television show host who is addicted to Adderall says.

Now, wear your masks, socially distance, wash your hands and, as always, until next time, I bid you peace.

The Difference Between What Should Have Happened, And What Is; A Migraine’s Tale

39

What I was going to do, was white this big thing talking about how the current government couldn’t care less about the 4th of July as was evidenced by the fiery rhetoric and non-sensical bullshit that was spewed last night in South Dakota.

I was going to talk about bipartisanism, the way forward through the pandemic, uniting after the trash has been taken out in November.

Instead, I am laying on my bed for the rat if the day/nighy, air conditioner blowing on me frigidly cold, no lights on in the room, the screen on my phone dimmed as much as it can be, talking into my phone in a soft whisper, trying desperately not to throw up, again.

Good intentions aren’t enough.

Keep safe tonight. No groups, no fireworks. Wear your masks, way your hands, socially distance and, as always, until next time, I bid you peace.

Winding. Fucking. Road.

Winding Road

This Bitch Is Going To Wander…

One of the things that have hit me the hardest in this pandemic cocktail drink of horror is that I am a very touchy-feely person. I love to hug people most of all and, if I can be a little cocky, I am pretty sure I give good hug. If you are a single-arm squeeze, a bear hug, or of course the patented Bear-Lifty-Twirly hug, I give a good fucking hug. I know it is a pretty minor thing in the long and short of things that people have lost, I am not trying to say it is a trauma, but it is a part of me that I am not allowed to express and that is a thing I am not used to at all.

My kids have been home since the last week of March. Now, if you can do basic math, and only basic math, like me, you know that is a long fucking time for three kids to be trapped in a place. I mean, Elder Duck’s summer vacation is shorter than the time he has been out of physical school. I don’t know what will happen when they all have to disappear and go back to real places again. I want to believe that there will be a mad rush to the door to get the hell out of a place they have been for nearly three-months solid, but Ia m also afraid the little dudes have established a routine so deep that there is a lot of bad things in the wind to get things back to “normal”.

Insert sharp hairpin of a curve…

Do you know what pisses me off? People who think that the opposite of love is hate. As my way smarter than me best friend has been trying to remind me of for the last umpteen years, the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. Think about it for a second, just stop for a second, and fucking think about it. What? No, still fucking think about it.

Now a straightaway…

My mental health, while never what one would call a particularly stable thing, has taken a hit over the last little while and I swear to the Goddess herself the next person who tells me I just need to go outside and get some fresh air is going to get my hand to their head. I am not a big fan of outside, but, you know what? I go the fuck outside. I breathe air, I go places because I need to go to them, hell I even go to places that I want to go to. Terry and I drive down by the lake to think and I breathe all kinds of goddamn air while I am out there. Do you know what else is outside? All of the things Ia m allergic to that exacerbate my migraines to the point where I go to bed at three in the afternoon for the day and then feel like a gutless fuck because I didn’t stay awake with my people.

Home Stretch Bitches…

Healing is an insanely personal thing and if I am smiling, or I make a joke or post a damn meme, that doesn’t mean it is “all good” and that I am all set for the Universe. No motherfucker, that just means that I am above water long enough just then to breathe deep and remember why being under the water for so damn long sucks so fucking bad. You stay in your lane about my mental health and I will stay in mine about yours, okay?

Now, I am going to listen to more fucking Weird Al polkas.

DRIVE. COMPLETE.