hey, a lot of people blog about their migraines. This is kind of like that, eh? worser living through badly designed personal chemistry. Intelligent design my aunt fanny. I read somewhere the attacks last a half hour. I've never had one last less than two hours and they always leave behind days of mental slime to clean up.
Lizard brain comes barging into regular life demands that all activity cease because FEAR is HERE.
Regular brain starts wondering what triggered the attack. Uh oh. Don't start. You can't ignore it but don't make eye contact. Just pretend that it's not important and--
Lizard brain pulls out weapons. Silence! And while we're on the subject, I do not give you permission to breathe that way! You must now make yourself dizzy with bizarre breathing. And overdramatic shaking! Then you must spend 1.45 hours puking and being generally disgustingly sick.
Regular brain says, what the hell? there is nothing going on here. What did I do to bring this on? could it be the lentils? Okay, so the old cognitive training says to give it a number between one and ten and just wait it--
Lizard brain lets loose with a series of chemical attacks. Silence! It's death and destruction and the end of life as we know it--
Regular brain groans. It is not, it's just you lurching around, mucking up the place. Look, I have work to do tomorrow and you're going to pound me all night and then wander around inside me for a couple of days. I know that. Fine, yes I know time to toss my cookies. I'm going to grab this book and hang out in the bathroom but don't think I'm going to let you run the show.
Lizard brain blasts all attempts at distraction, including the book--it can make Peanuts look sinister, for God's sake. It blasts the regular thinking. No surprise, when I got up I find it is still trying to assert itself. No, you may not make your kid breakfast. Tell the kid to leave you alone. And by the way, let me remind you that you're a worthless weak person for allowing me to surface and--
Enough already! Go away! Regular brain is tired now and trying to yell as loud as LB.
RB is trying to figure out how to send LB back to the nether depths, even though we all know that is a useless exercise. . . and I just want to pour out the damn Cheerios. I think I'll clean the house and not even try to work. There is no way I'm letting that write a single paragraph or even play with taxes. Even that is being tiresome.
Of course the kid has no idea, thank goodness. I have had this off and on for about 20 years. I can do all this quietly. Except the bathroom part--haven't figured that out yet.