Migraine Depression

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As you can see from my recent poem post, I had an excruciating migraine yesterday.  It was so painful I had to fight suicidal urges.  I cried and sobbed at the hours they rob me of each day I have one.  I begged and screamed at a God, who won’t cure me of them.

I am feeling better today.  It is gone, but the fear of the next one is constantly there.  The increased dose of propranolol is causing me to get poor sleep which I think is what is triggering the migraines, which is ironic since the propranolol is what is supposed to be preventing them.

I have had more migraines than usual this month and the month’s not even over yet.  I am not sure whether to wait another ten days when the propranolol’s dose is increased again or call my doctor now.

I’ve read the sleep problems are temporary.  I have decided to cut my second Adderall dose from 10 mg to 5 mg to help me sleep.  I was going to cut out my daily nap as well, but I was so tired this morning that I already failed that goal.

I have been doing the breathing meditation my doctor recommended for at least ten minutes a day for the last five out of six days, and it has helped me feel calmer and more compassionate toward others.  That was a nice surprise.

Right now, I am just so traumatized by the migraine I had yesterday that I can’t seem to reach any sort of peace of mind.  I feel like my husband thinks I am nuts because I got so upset and emotional about it last night, but I am really becoming hopeless.

I am thankful that even though it feels like I am dying and even though I want to die, at least I am not dying.  That would not be a good thing for my family.  I know they need me and want me around.  It is why I am still here.

Photo credit: Avenue G via Foter.com / CC BY

Suicidal Migraine

A blade slices mine in two
for Hannibal Lecter’s meal.
Chew. Chew.”

Every molar sinking in,
masticating; nerve-ends serrating.
There’s nothing I can do,

but succumb to the sadist’s call or
I could just end it all:

dog pile mind-rapes;
personality mishapes.

You see,

to leave it all behind,
my dead body
they will find.

Choice is a Luxury

Seahorse memories
flood the ocean floor
on this, the day,
you died of depression.

Some say you
had a choice
like if you wanted
fries with that,
or not.

Choice is a luxury of the sane.

You no more chose this
than your blue eyes.

Nature is an ass-biting bitch,
and powerful,
especially over a mind
that has left;

a “not in their right mind”
kind of mind.

You didn’t do anything.
This happened to you,
but you know all of this already,
don’t you?