I was going along, the day after surviving a three day migraine, minding my own business, when suddenly I involuntarily ducked my head, placed my hands on my forehead and winced.
Was it the bright sunlight reflecting from a car windshield? Was it the sound of a small child crying in an unusually high pitch somewhere nearby? Was it the strong smell of honeysuckle and freshly mowed grass? Was it the lack of sleep induced by the over abundance of restless rolling in my bed for three days straight? Was it all or none of these things?
Was it the memory of the pain? A migraine hangover. Post Traumatic Migraine Disorder, if you will. The fear that at any moment the monster that controls so much of my life, will rear it's ugly head, and try to take mine off at the eyebrows. At least I believe that the monster is ugly, as I have never actually seen the face, just felt the blows that usually hit without warning and from behind.
Any lingering of a scent, any fphlit-ering of light, or squeal of a siren over a mile away, sends me lurching away like Quasimodo from the bells.
Shunting the world around me is not the way to deal with living. I'm using all my tricks, avoiding those situations that put me in peril while welcoming life one day at a time.