There were two days out of the last 30 that my head didn’t hurt. TWO DAYS. And they weren’t even concurrent. Days without migraine pain are the exception for me and have never been the rule. Unfortunately, living in a world of people who don’t understand that a migraine isn’t “just a headache,” has forced me to tell half-truths for most of my life.

“How do you feel?” “Does your head hurt today?” “Is your migraine gone?”
All of these questions are answered with lies if I can get out of bed. “Better.” “Fine.” “Okay.”

But I’m not better or fine or okay. My head hurts. My body won’t regulate temperature. My arm is numb. My joints ache terribly. I’m so thirsty I feel like I’m going to die. Every sound puts me on edge. I’m anxious. The thought of food makes me want to vomit; unless you’re talking about chocolate, or crackers, or any other delicious carb that’s going to make my head hurt worse the next day. All of these things, with yesterday’s postdrome and tomorrow’s prodrome are constantly slamming up against me, but in order not to burden the people I love, my answer, if I can make it sound even close to convincing, is “fine.”

I’ve suffered migraine attacks since I was 13 years-old. I remember my first one. I wholeheartedly thought I was going to die. I was convinced that something had happened in my brain and that the god-awful pressure and pulsating pain in my temple were the symptoms of a catastrophe that had happened in my body. I laid down behind a concession stand rather than walking to the practice field and cried myself to sleep. Such was the beginning of a lifetime of migraine headaches. I’m older now and I’ve learned to deal with them differently. Part of my coping mechanism is that I have the blessing of prescription medication that helps. My abortive reduces my migraines by at least 50% at least 50% of the time. I am allowed to take 4.5 of those a month. Preventatives are hit or miss. I’ve had some that I “thought” were working to some degree, but migraine sufferers don’t just lie to you, they lie to themselves, too. The absolute hope you have in taking something that will make them stop overrides your ability to see that this month’s symptom journal is just as messy as the one you kept last month.

I WANT TO FEEL BETTER. I didn’t want to leave my group at Six Flags and go cry and pray that I wasn’t having a stroke in the backseat of a hot car for 6 hours. I didn’t want to miss my grandmother’s funeral or Daphne’s wedding or the day at the lake or any of the other things I’ve missed because my head hurt too bad to finish a sentence, much less join the fun.

So, if I can physically force myself to smile and jump in the car, I will every single time. If I can keep lunch down while we’re out, I’ll order something yummy. If I can see clearly out of my strong eye, I’ll even drive. I’ll show up and say, “Fine,” over and over and over because otherwise, I’d live my life in bed, surrounded by drugs, icepacks and nobody.

I started another new drug last night. It wiped me out so badly that I had to force myself out of bed at 8 am this morning. I don’t want to be disappointed, but I hope against hope that this drug will actually stop my migraines. My whole adult life has been about stopping my migraines. Everyday, I research. Everyday, I think about trying something new. Everyday that I wake up pain free, I rush to write down everything I did the day before, hoping for some magical, miraculous formula that stops the symptoms and ends the cycle.

So, I’m just here, telling you that if you love a migraine sufferer, they are lying to you. Not to get away with something, not because they don’t love you, not because you aren’t kind with the truth; but because they desperately want to live the life you desperately want to give them. They want to show up as much as you want them to. They want to have the best day ever as much as you do. They don’t want to ruin anniversaries, cruises, beach strolls, dinner plans or Thursdays anymore than you do. They don’t want you to spend the day trying to no avail to make them feel better. So, if they can, they lie.

Migraine sufferers are constantly recognizing triggers and prodrome symptoms. It’s common knowledge that an aura happens before most migraines, but a lot of people think that’s just visual disturbances. Last year, I realized that the day before a 7+/10 migraine, the tip of my nose will be inexplicably and unreasonably cold. I realized that the night before an 8/10 migraine, I will not be able to sleep for trying to quench an insatiable thirst. I’ll drink a gallon of water between bedtime and morning, but never be able to get ahead of the pain. Recently, I found out that a LOT of people have those specific prodrome symptoms as well. It made me feel almost normal to know that I’m not the only one.

So, in hopes of helping my fellow migraine sufferers feel almost normal knowing that they’re not the only one, I’m letting you know that I know that you lie, because I lie too.