Well my dear Skittlebugs…it’s a sad, sad, ultra-sad, extremely over the top, dramatic, weeping, tantrum throwing kind of day over here in Care Bear Land. Even a bath filled with Skittles and a faucet that runs with Mt. Dew can’t make this day better. I ain’t farting any gumdrops. It’s just downright shitastic.
Ugh. I guess I have to actually go from figuring it out to admitting it in my head to writing down the damn words here.
Are you ready?
I think that chocolate is the cause of my migraines.
Is your mouth wide open because you are shrieking in horror for me?
Last night I started getting a headache. And because I’m stupid and stubborn, I listened to my crazy head and dumbass Drazil who was saying, “It’s not a migraine. You’re just tired. It’s not a migraine.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph on a stick! I have never ever ever ever had just a headache since Banana was born 7 years ago. Every single headache turns into a migraine. I don’t know why I continue to pretend otherwise.
Anyway – at midnight the pain woke me up. Migraine city. Big shocker, right? I took a triptan and prayed to every God imaginable to let it work. I think I even promised one such God that I’d sacrifice our cat in adoration if they let the meds work. Oopsie.
4am comes around and I’m dying. I’m sure of it. I’d cut my own head off if I had the strength to go and get a knife from the kitchen. I take another triptan.
6am rolls around and I tell myself to suck it up buttercup and get my ass to work.
7am comes and I’m at work and I decide to take a massive dose of prescription naproxen because I’d rather be in a drugged-out coma then let this migraine win. No – I don’t care if they find me convulsing at my desk with drool on my face. No one will notice the drool when they see the snakeskin heels I have on.
I’ve got it covered.
The migraine starts to ease now that I’ve broken every medicinal rule possible.
I start thinking that I should go over my food journals that I’ve meticulously kept since the first of the year – you know – to see if I can find a pattern or trigger.
Lightbulb moment, right?
I go through each day of my journals that correspond to days that I’ve had a migraine.
F*ck a duck and call it Larry.
Every damn day that I got a migraine – I had an over-abundance of chocolate or sugar.
This can’t be happening. Seriously. How can something I love so much create something I hate more than I hate P words? I may or may not have dropped to my knees and screamed WHY at the top of my lungs.
Now listen. The good news is that yours truly usually eats some kind of chocolate or treat every day. I fit it into my 1200 calories a day and the world keeps spinning. Usually I drink ½ a can of Mt. Dew or have a fun size tootsie roll or something like that. Not a lot.
BUT then there are some shitastic days where I can’t control the amount of chocolate that goes in my mouth. I hate it when that happens.
Yesterday I had M&Ms for breakfast. Don’t judge.
I had 2 fun size Milky Ways. I had 1 scoop of Culver’s custard.
I had enough Easter robin eggs to feed Ethiopian kids for 5 years.
Massive overload of chocolate and sugar.
And less than 5 hours later, I’m in the fetal position praying to golden calves
and offering up cats as sacrifices.
Dammit all to Hell.
This is hard to swallow. Like wow.
Could this really be it?
Seven years of searching for a trigger and I never freaking saw a pattern until now?
What is wrong with me?
Live in denial-land much?
Or how about refuse-to-see-what’s-right-in-front-of-you-land?
I was too busy flitting around Care Bear Land like some damn fairy to admit the facts.
So now what?
Well – it’s time to get serious. If I found the trigger, I have to test it. I have to grow some balls as big as basketballs and (wo)man up. I have to stop the excess. I have to see if doing so stops the migraines.
There’s a part of me that wants to scream like a little girl that I’ve found the trigger and what that could mean.
There’s another part of me that wants to do the ugly cry in a corner and suck my thumb.
What a curse this is. Karma can suck my left tit if you ask me.
My body can handle small quantities just fine.
Go overboard and death will greet you in a few hours.
What’s a girl to do when faced with a crisis of this magnitude?
I made a nail appointment. That should help, right?
I also shot the Easter Bunny. Tell your kids I’m sorry.
The robin eggs made me do it.
Or blame Drazil. That always works for me.