Thriving with General Anxiety Disorder & chronic migraine

“Be stoic,” “stay calm,” “get out of your head,”…

Thundering, pounding, paradoxically pressuring–like a migraine. The silent thought of death feels lovelier than staying in this suffocating cycle of erratic insensible irritability.

My eyes catch glimpses of the sun, brighter than I’ve ever seen, the sky, the trees, blurred faces, blurred sounds, smells like textures, textures like noise until

thump.

I fall.

Someone smacks me, and I somewhat know they did, but without the sensation–the connection. Saliva…drool slips from my lips, and paralyzed, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t talk, I feel, but it doesn’t make any sense, and I feel half-alive. They lay me down in a curled position, and everything melts into one, the ambulance screaming and their chaotic demand for me to “keep your eyes open!” I’d rather close them and melt into an amorphous glob.

These are a collection of experiences I’ve undergone as someone diagnosed with chronic migraine. It’s something I have dealt with since that sunny May afternoon my sixth-grade teacher decided during a field trip that staying in the sun for 4 hours would be fine (beneficial) for kids.

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Oh, I screamed.

My head felt like it was ripping apart, like butterflying a chicken breast–knives tearing, piercing, ripping smoothly against the grain,

in — out

My mom in the distance was crying. It was 2 am, and she did not know what to do frantically. This perpetuated, and I slowly got used to the horror, jaded, silent, accepting, but fighting still.

The silent struggle distracted me, causing me to lose the focus I once had. It would exacerbate because I was a woman, and the pain doubled in the weeks I bled. I’d projectile vomit more abundantly than someone with the stomach flu. I wouldn’t eat for days, skipping lunch in the noisy cafeteria and opting for quiet “locked” classrooms. Hunched over with my wool cardigans, I hid from the noise.

In college, I never went to the home games. I never joined clubs or made friends outside of class or work. The pounding feeling of actually nauseating anxiety and fatigue infiltrated my being. The dating game was no exception, but luckily I found someone online who understood the conditions which distract — my now-husband.

Quiet,

I found silence and solitude at my predictable home with my gentle anxious cats or in the library I worked in. I found acceptance, and I accepted.

I’ve learned to lean into difficulty with quiet courage, an assortment of compounds, and support from those who understand the battle. All have helped me perform more confidently.