Migraines, Dreams, and fucked up brains

What surprised me about going through one of my more terrible migraines last night was how part of it pleased me. In some odd way it was slightly a pleasant experience and this just struck me and now I want to explore why.
I think with immense pain, it's never the pain itself that I like. I’m no masochist. Part of it is about the relief afterwards. Seems a microcosm to a whole life. Think of everyday without any kind of suffering or hardship. Everything’s ok, good, perfect even! ...but it would become so banal after awhile…. so unbearably dull. You’d be missing the passion to get better, to thrive, resist, fight, overcome… lacking that is worse than any pain.

I ate some chicken from Wal-Mart yesterday and it tasted fine, but no more than an hour after it went down my stomach was turning and I could feel that sluggy feeling in my blood when I’ve consumed something unhealthy, usually preservatives or chemicals they put in food. I’m very sensitive to that stuff. A lot of it really hurts me and I feel miserable almost always, except when I don’t eat much at all. When I go a whole day without eating is when I feel best, hungry yes, but fucking a lot better than what most food does to me. I think I have an overly sensitive digestive tract. Luckily I don’t get heartburn but sometimes I feel like I swallowed razor blades and it’s dragging along my small intestine. Water helps.
I probably need a highly specialized diet but I guess I don’t want to become that finicky or categorize myself as one of those pain in the ass girls that cant be pleased. Cause I’m not like that. It’s just my body.
I should just eat pure vegetables, all fresh and organic for a month. Nothing prepared in boxes or frozen. Lean fresh meats like fish, tuna, chicken. No fast no food. No eating out. I bet I’d feel way better. But my social life doesn’t fit that nor does a sense of fun or just convenience. It’s easier to just eat less snacks and junk. But once in a while I eat something like that. I don’t think a whole lot about it really. I mean thinking about how I should formulate my diet, though I should be thinking about it. I think about the discomfort and it makes me not want to eat. oh and saltine crackers are my best friend. They always ease upset stomach and indigestion. And they help me go to sleep. That with skim milk. It makes me like a baby. Crackers like that (not Ritz or any other trans fat nightmare) are simple enough that my body likes it. I like the fat free ones because they are so dry and I love that texture to food. Most people would find it to be like cardboard but I think it’s perfect simple staple food. Nothing extravagant or gourmet. Nothing fancy and about palate pleasure. Crackers are about soothing.

Anyway, so that chicken from Wal-Mart must have had preservatives in it or MSG or something. Because I felt sick to my stomach right afterwards. Then I could feel it in my brain, like a tightening restricting feeling inside my skull. I knew a headache was coming. I started drinking lots of water to flush it but it wasn’t going to help. By the time I got home, I felt oddly so exhausted (although I don’t know if the tiredness had anything to do with the chicken) I went to bed at 8. I woke up at midnight after having a series of really fucked up dreams. And my head hurt so bad I honestly think I know what it must feel like to have a screwdriver stabbed into your brain along the eyeball to where it rips through but doesn’t kill you. I lay there exasperated by pain. I think I hallucinated a little to be honest. I was half awake and started lucidly dreaming (where you control the dream and are fully aware that you are dreaming) It was actually pretty creative and it made me start thinking about how the things we think as beautiful in art are really the product of brain damage. It comes from fucked up people who have a mental disorder…which if you break true psychological disorders down they are some sort of brain damage or unbalanced brain chemistry. Not to diminish mental disorders as a genuine medical field or oversimplify them. I meant no offense. But you know…
Crazy people always make the coolest stuff. If you’ve ever read the statement Charlie Manson gave in court you sit there and think, “what the bloody hell is he talking about?” and you keep reading and it seems like such a beautifully put and deeply thoughtful statement, but you never know when you get to the end what it really was about.
Anyway, the dreams I had were really sweet and I wish I had them recorded somehow. And I only have dreams like that… well, on a regular basis my dreams are incredibly vivid and I remember them with minute detail. But they get super intense when I’m on cold medicine or when I sleep with a migraine. It fucks my head all up. My everyday dreams seem like a lot to most people. I think all people have much more to their dreams than they think. They just don’t remember. It takes practice. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my dreams. I used to record them by writing them out every morning. Doing that helps your recall process and changes the way you remember them forever. You have to want it though. It’s interesting exploring your own mind as if it’s not a part of you, like it’s someone else’s.
I think that’s where the pleasure comes in. Though migraines hurt a lot and you have (quite seriously) moments where you would rather just die than feel that shit any longer, pain like that strips you down to your essentials, to the barest sense of you. Something else deeper wants to survive and get better and it’s like that part of yourself comes vibrantly out of its shell and feeling it is nice. It’s so primal and animalistic.
I fell asleep again by 4 and woke up a little after 7, got ready for work. I had taken an Aleve and that usually completely erases my migraines, nothing else ever seems to work, even Excedrin. Anyway, it was gone by morning which put me in a incredibly good mood stemming purely from sheer relief. I like grading my migraines like tornadoes. That one was F4. F5 is worst. At one point I thought I was bleeding inside my head…seriously. I’ve come to terms with the fact that migraines are going to be a regular part of my life. My mom gets them, My grandma gets them. It’s genetic. So I’ve gotten used to the way they feel and know how to manage the pain. I bet if any random everyday person who’s never had a migraine before had the migraine I had last night they would’ve gone to the emergency room. Ha.

i think girls with noses like this are extremely pretty, though they always tend to be self-conscious about it...

the way the carpet feels on bare feet. and how the smell of my grandma's house always leaves with me in my hair.

Here’s what I said to myself earlier:
“Maybe you should just stop caring, let your life get easier
stop trying so hard to find meaning where there isn't any.
certain things you must let go.”

You ever feel like maybe you're just a gay man trapped in a girl's body? Over and over drawn to men of questionable sexuality. You never know until later, maybe even before they know themselves. Like your attraction alone is the perfect natural radar.
Men keep looking at you like a sex object… never seems quite right. It just repulses you, yet still there's something about the idea of penetration that's enthralling yet piggishly disgusting. That’s how I find the female in me still. But I’ve never really belonged to either gender.

Why is it we’re always waiting for people to become fascinated with the tiny details of our lives? In the end I’m all who noticed and cared. I like watching movies that follow someone around and examine the tiny details of their lives. They just sit and eat a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and that’s all and there will be a five minute scene about it…. So dreadfully long. How many times did you look away? i could watch someone’s life like that forever and waste mine watching another’s. If I had three wishes I’d ask for three lifetimes to sit and do nothing but watch through the eyes of the three most “boring” lives. And see what they see forever, and hear their thoughts and maybe get a trickling feeling of their emotions too.

so many words

it amazes me how sometimes you can have thousands of words with someone over the course of time as you know them and never reach any real substantial progress in the relationship you have with them. nothing changes about your relationship, nothing grows. Despite it, though, you still keep going and trying, starting things and seeking it out. wondering how long it will stay so stagnant and if any of it is your fault.
so many words though, all meaningless.

obstacle of pretending and plenty of self-denial

i don't want to worry about what to call it... can i just love you?

a couple of kooks

11 29 10
It seems like you could just wait, and there'd be a chance later… to really speak and open up,
to really say all you wanted to say but couldn’t in the first moment, while you held back trying to be appropriate and "not too personal"
But it kills you when you eventually find out that there is no later. There is no second chance.
That moment is all you get and now it's gone and they never saw you, heard you, connected with you.
You’re still hidden and you're still nobody. Still so fucking alone.
Just now, we finished a nearly-hour long conversation and I said not one word with any deep meaning. I’m left so unfulfilled, so exasperated inside. I’m breathless and, God, there simply is too much I need to say to him. There is no “how” anymore. It’s gotten out of hand, far out my reach. I can’t control my emotions anymore. I can’t stop this raging feeling of humanism, bonding, honesty, empathy, love.
It never works. I never see. It’s always just me and myself at the end of the day.
She is there still, the only one who really talks to me.
And, just to say, nothing is his fault. He didn’t fail or fall short on that conversation. I love that he even talked to me. He tried. He instigated. He held it out. But ultimately I’m too much of a monster for him.
He’s sweet and simple. Good and kind. I can’t begin to explain to you how much I would unintentionally fuck him up.
Everything good is just a dream.
:::
Do we ever get to a point where everything that happens internally has just as much importance as what's externally happening? They’ve always been the same thing for me, as far as how much it affects me.
Who are we externally and internally…why do they have to be so different? I am two people. But better inside. Inside, I make my own rules and I don’t have to wait for anyone’s decision or approval. Human will can be such a tricky thing. People misunderstand, or it takes too long to make them understand. While my need for love starts to kill me and I’m withering, crumpling.

12 6 10

Part of the drive to live is for people to know about it. I can’t help but want to explore great things, see wondrous things but I can’t stand not sharing it and finding out others feel it too. If the world were all apes and I was the only intelligent one, and I had all these glorious thoughts, seeing beautiful truths… but it was all known alone, still I’d be so sad none of it would matter. It’s nothing without consensus and genuine connection. Part of truth is our inevitable connection to one another, and our love for one another. If I couldn’t share it I’d simply die of sadness. It’s part of what hope means.