Estimated reading time — 2 minutes
It’s a stabbing pain, really. It comes suddenly. Without warning. I don’t know how many doctors I’ve seen. Migraine? Migraine medications didn’t help. Tension headaches? Please. I’m fine most of the time. But then it hits. It hits right behind my eye. It attacks me. Like some tiny demon with an ice pick, stabbing my eye. It comes without warning, without pity, and without remorse.
It attacked me in the car once. I crashed into a parked car. I got sued. Really, it’s not fair. It wasn’t my fault. When it attacks, my eyes water and my nose runs. I can’t see. All I feel is the stabbing, angry pain trying to pop out my eye. It happened once at my job. I screamed. Everyone thought I was crazy. All it takes is one time doing something out of the norm, and I’m labeled as crazy.
No one understands. I can’t sleep. I can’t work. I can’t drive. I just wait for the demon to attack.
I tried medication. Really. I did everything they told me. Pain medications. Seizure medications. Yoga. Meditation. Everything. I tried drugs. All of them, really. I tried marijuana, Percocet, even heroin. My demon just laughs at drugs. I got caught. I got caught with Percocet. My parents think I’m a criminal. It’s not my fault! It’s the demon. It’s always the demon. He screeches.
He’s coming. I don’t know when. I don’t know where. But he always comes back. The anticipation is almost worse than the stab. All day, I just wait. I just wait for the demon. Sometimes he comes. Sometimes he doesn’t. I think he just laughs at me.
It’s not fair! I didn’t ask for this. One doctor said it was an “ice-pick” headache. Well, that’s what it feels like. A demon with an ice pick. A demon stabbing me. I hate him.
I thought I could stab him back. I didn’t want to go without a fight, you know? So I got my own ice pick. I got my own ice pick and sliced out my eye. Can you imagine? Plucking out your own eye?
But it didn’t help. It didn’t help. I don’t know what else to do. Suicide? Maybe. But maybe I can get rid of the demon by finding him a new home. Maybe he’d like someone else. Maybe he’ll move one. And I’ll be free. I’ll get my life back. I know it’s not fair. But it’s not fair that I have to go through this. It’s not fair.
Maybe if someone else feels an ice pick through their eye, they’ll understand. Maybe the demon will go to them. Anyway, that’s why you’re here. I’m sorry, really I am. But I don’t know what else to do.
Please, stop struggling. It’s just going to make things worse.
Credit: D. Fulkerson
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