Migraines are a lie. Narcotics are the truth.

This weekend, I went to see a healer. Yes, a healer. He's the healer of my teacher's teacher and very well regarded in the yoga circle I move in, so I figured why not check it out. At first, I couldn't remember a single physical ailment that he could help me with, but then my friend Nancy reminded me about my migraines. Duh.

Of course, I could've just asked him to tune-up my chakras. But as below, I'm not so good at this.

When I took my turn, my thirty-minute appointment, I'll admit that my first and most dominant feeling was "I'm so bad at this." I don't really know what to do in these situations (need a How To for healers), what to ask for, what to expect, so I tried to keep an open mind throughout. Tried, I say, since I will admit that there were times my eyes would want to snap open so I could see what was transpiring and ask a bunch of questions. Instead, I did my best to quiet my mind and just go with it.

Definitely, something happened in that room. I was very rapidly in a relaxed state. He worked on my head, neck and shoulders, asked me questions like whether I was really ready to let go of the migraines. I had to think about my answer a bit. I was advised to stop sugar and alcohol for a while. Interesting.

Then I just laid there on the massage table, face up, for a while taking it in, integrating it as we say. After a while, I opened my eyes and tripped out on colors I was seeing on the ceiling. That's right, colors. Very pretty. On my way out the door, Scott said that thoughts would come more slowly now. Interesting.

It was all very gentle, very simple, very kind. Scott, the healer, is a lovely creature. Afterward, I sat out in the living room with Nancy and chatted quietly. I went home, had a huge allergy attack and stumbled through the rest of my day.

But through the haze, the thought arose: Migraines are a lie. Narcotics are the truth.

Interesting. I hate the migraines, but love the vicodin or percocet or whatever other narcotic I can get my hands on/prescription for, and am very quick to hit the drugs at the slightest hint of a migraine. It suddenly occurred to me that the real problem was not the migraines but the pills, sad since I do love them unabashedly. Also that I pretty much hate my job and that I've relied on some mental padding to get through the past year or so. Mental padding = pills, obviously, of one kind or another.

Maybe this doesn't mean anything to anyone but me, but honestly, it rocked me. It's true that since the appointment -- allergy-attack notwithstanding -- I've felt clear, easeful in my mind, no sign of anxiety or any other forehead-crunching. It's only been a few days, but honestly I do feel different. I give Scott credit and my thanks for that, and for unleashing this realization, one that I so deeply needed.

The perpetual optimism of the migraine-sufferer

Goes a little like this.

Maybe this is just a headache and if I just (choose one or more):

- have a cup of coffee
- don't have a cup of coffee
- eat something
- drink some water
- sleep
- wear dark glasses
- swallow some ibuprofen
- other nonsense, fill in the blank

then it'll go away and not turn into that same, tired crap with the potential to ruin three or more days of my life.

Such optimism, so endearing and so ridiculous! You get so tired of having migraines, of feeling like shit, of drugging yourself through them, that you'll believe anything, try like hell to resist going there again.

The downside to such optimism is that point that arrives hours later, when you realize that none of the sweet little over-the-counter half-measures have done anything to stop it from coming, that in fact the delay means the migraine is worse, has its claws in deeper, and that it'll take longer for the drugs to kick in and kick its ass.

With migraines, optimism is for suckers. From now, as long as there is supply, have pills, will swallow. I'll sort out what it *really* was later.

Down the hatch!