Under Siege

A feeling.

A feeling like nothing you have ever felt before.

All consuming. Eating you. Creeping though you to cover every last inch.

Nothing can stop it.

It numbs your touch.

It makes you weak.

You shake.

Tremble.

 

Trying not to fall.

The world starts spinning.

So dizzy...

The merry-go-round doesn’t stop. 

You hold still. You can’t close your eyes. It only gets worse.

You fight the light.

You fight the sounds.

Every movement. Every step. Every breath. They just bring more pain.

You start to sweat, yet you are freezing.

You brain just seizes.

You can’t think.

You can’t process.

You can’t function.

You press on knowing you can’t quit. You can’t pause. You can’t stop.

Nothing helps. It doesn’t end.

Suddenly you feel nothing. The buzzing creeps through your body from your fingers and toes rising like a great flood. You go numb. The whiteness creeps from all corners of your vision and you’re blinded.

Then it passes. The world returns. The pain continues....

This is my reality.

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I don’t often write about me. I write about my son. Our journey. After all, this is what it is all about. I’ve been hearing the assumption a lot lately that life has to be so difficult or so hard raising a child with special needs.

Nope.

Living with a migraine/seizure disorder is hard.

Waking up literally every day of my life with a headache is hard. Every.Single.Day.

Waking up every day with some level of fear over what the day will bring.

The only variance I have is just how bad it hurts. Some days it’s an annoying twinge. Other days it’s a full on attack.

If I wake up and I’m already under attack I can pretty much guarantee it will be a day from hell.

Nothing can alleviate the pain, the dizziness, the nausea, the sensitivity.

Any sudden movement will threaten to send me spiraling to the floor.

There are moments I pray for a seizure. Why? Because when my brain gets stuck and I’m completely numb it is the only relief I will get. The pain won’t go away, but I can function again. Sometimes it takes minutes. Other times, hours.

I don’t get time outs. I don’t get sick leave. I don’t get to go hide in a corner.

I am a single mom. My son needs me. I am on duty 24/7 no matter what.

That, my friends, is hard.

Not my son.

Not Autism.

Chronic pain.