Sometimes the storm simply means you're moving through it. The pain comes up to the light, only to be absorbed by it. It's an excruciating process, but clean. Necessary. Better than bearing all my griefs in my arms.
So yesterday was a day of monumental migraines and an expiration for most of the day, when I had planned to leave, to drive some 300 kilometres down South. Instead, I curled up for hours, trying to get comfortable, to get some blessed relief. But someone stood on the inside of my head and banged away with a sledgehammer.
I felt it.
Dhoom, dhoom, dhoom.
And I kept feeling it, until tired from all that pain, I succumbed and took two Panadols. And then a half hour later, the pain subsided. But by then, I was too exhausted from wrestling with the pain, and too weak, to pack up the car and leave.
And now it's today and I can go. I need to get a birthday cake along the way. And I want to go alone.
Somehow, as time goes on, I seem to place a higher and higher value on being solitary. When voices crowd in, I put up my hands and push them away. Shut them out.
Shut everyone out.
For now.
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