The Taste of Pain

I ate a lot yesterday.
I didn't weigh myself. I had gotten down to 134.4. When I got home from work, I was at 134.2.

But then my migraine kicked in.

I had been fighting it all night. Lots of excedrin. But the smoke from the wildfires in CA has blown into where we are despite being so far away, and for the past few nights, the air has been thick with it. Roiling. Thick and smelling of burning wood and pollution, and it sticks to your clothes. I've been getting chest problems lately, and I started hacking, and it triggered my migraine from the allergies and just...things.
It also made me feel so sick. When I have shit in my lungs, I lose all my appetite. I just couldn't bring myself to eat. So I had a bowl of cereal in an 8 hour period, and I know better than that. There wasn't enough protein, and i was way under my calorie intake for such an extended period, and my migraine just...kicked in without warning.

I wound up shaking. Shaking, and dry heaving. I tore apart my room looking for my ambien, took a full one with a flexeril, flurbiprofen, and celebrex. All on a relatively empty stomach. Then attacked a bag of pita chips, half a hershey bar, a 100 calorie snack pack, and a jar of peanut butter. All right before bed. And I was too afraid to weigh myself. I knew I'd be in the 135-136 range, and I can't bring myself to see that.

I just can't.

I might not weigh myself for a few days.

I woke up with the migraine still in tact. I took three excedrin and 4 ibuprofen. It's going away, but now I have the post-migraine exhaustion, and I'm at work. I keep slumping in my chair, or closing my eyes and falling dead asleep while I'm still sitting up. And the worst part of it all?
I can still feel it there, in the back of my neck. Waiting.

I need to sleep now. I need to sleep to make it go away, or it'll come back. I can feel it flirting with me and mocking me as my body begs for a much needed reprieve.

I hate these things.

I hate the way pain tastes.

Strange, isn't that?

I taste pain. Thin razor cuts are like warheads - that puckering sour that sticks in the back of your throat and makes you feel ill. The sharp drag of a safety pin tugging and pulling is like coarse, unground sea salt, crunchy and melting on the tongue with a perfect sinful quality and delicious regret. The smack of something like a hanger or ruler on the flesh is cinnamon - spicy and bitter, with a hint of sweetness to it that somehow addicts you. The smack of a branch or a thin reed, or even a riding crop...that is mint. Cold and stinging, trailing chills up your flesh once the initial burn of application to mouth and lips has faded....

Migraines taste...like copper. Or biting on aluminum foil. It tastes heavy, and metallic, and sour all at once. Bitter and rotten and unnatural in the mouth. It tastes like a fork between teeth with fillings in it.

Maybe that's why I eat.

Because when I hurt, no amount of teeth brushing, mouthwash, toothpaste, or gum, can remove the "taste", because it's not really in my mouth. It's in my head. I taste it with all of my body, wracking through me. I cannot move, but I cannot sit still. I cannot lay down for more than a few minutes - I cannot stay in one position for more than a few minutes. Up, down, up, down, up, down; ice pack, heat pack, ice pack, heat pack; lights on, lights off, lights on, lights off....all the while ripping at my hair, rolling around, digging my hands into half blind eyes that see no shapes, just blurs, the depth perception gone thanks to the strange pain. Tasting it there, in my eyes, down to the bones below them, to the back of my head, neck, arms...tasting it in my gut and mouth and legs and ankles and back.... Barely able to breathe without making sparks of agony ignite. Loud, quiet, loud, quiet...unable to get comfortable. Begging for the sleep aids to kick in. Begging for the pain to let me sleep longer than ten minutes. My body burning on fire, my muscles clenched in a rage, my mouth dry. Thirsty, thirsty, so very thirsty....

...ringing in the ears, with a pain so bad I swear to myself that I would rather die....

Restless. Exhausted. Bitter tastes. Terrible tastes. Unable to be comfortable. And agony. Blindness. Mind numbing pain.

And before the pain, the "aura" I have is not one of pure physical manifestation. It is rage, and slurred speech. Mixing up words. Impulsivity. After...the exhaustion. The melancholy. The severe depression. So tired I can barely lift my hands to type....

So very tired.