willow bark

I don’t like horror movies and I think it is because my body is too much like a horror movie, like a haunted house.

Some days the body is the thing that follows me up the stairs.

My mate says I look sad. I am not; I am just pale from pain. It hasn’t occurred to me to feel sad. I am still in the desperate throes of looking for something to bite down on. Where is the anodyne?

Feeling sad? That would be a luxury. I am just on a teeter-totter of pain and avoidance.

And the blog? I am talking to myself out loud, in a public space. Pain and madness hold hands.

The leather punching bag of the body.

Remember the theme of surfacing? I ask myself. How to surface, without getting the bends? February may be about seeking some more assistance as I come up for air.

Here is the Catch 22. On the few days I feel well, I want to live and get things done. I want to enjoy life. Not having a migraine is like being released from jail, or a medieval torture chamber. I can think, I can breathe.
On the days I am ill, I am actually too ill to call doctors and do research and track down labs and pore over them and make plans of action related to finding a cure.

I envy addicts in that they must have found something that will work, for at least a little while. I would be an addict too if I could find something that relieved my pain.

I believe we eat partly because we are looking for medicine. Not just that satisfaction of fullness or the opiates or endorphins brought on by sugar and carbohydrate, but than in the animal world we would have found our medicine in plants and roots and bark and leaves and so we are simply tasting everything, looking for a cure. Looking for our willow bark.