Lost A

Tag: fear

  • Migraine: A Quiet Storm Inside the head

    Migraine: A Quiet Storm Inside the head

    Migraines are more than headaches. They are neurological storms that move through the body in ways that feel unreal. Some people get warnings. Some get nothing at all until the world begins to flicker. There are migraines that come with pain and migraines that come with aura, which can change vision for a short time.

    Living with them means learning to recognize the storm even when it arrives without a sound.

    My first migraine was the most frightening moment of my life. I had no idea what was happening. I was going through a normal day when flashes of lightning appeared at the edge of my eye. Then black and white spots showed up. They grew and moved until they covered everything.

    Within half an hour I was losing my vision. Then it disappeared completely.

    There was no headache. No pain. Only darkness.

    I thought I was going blind. I remember the panic. The way I tried to blink my sight back into place. Nothing changed. I was on the way to the hospital, terrified, trying to understand how vision could vanish so suddenly.

    Slowly, my sight returned. First shapes. Then shadows. Then the world again. The doctors ran tests and told me it was a migraine. I could not believe that something so terrifying had such a simple name.

    Many years have passed since that first attack. It still comes and goes two or three times a year. It is not complete blindness anymore. I lose part of my vision. Sometimes the right side. Sometimes the left.

    It begins the same way. Lightning at the corner of my eye. Black and white spots. A slow fade of the world.

    Lately there is pain with it. A headache that arrives after the vision loss. A pressure behind the eyes. A heaviness that makes everything feel slower.

    Living with migraines means accepting that they can appear without warning. One moment everything is normal. The next moment the world is flickering.

    I am writing this because I had no idea what was happening the first time. It was terrifying. I want people to know that sudden vision loss can be part of a migraine. I want them to know that it can pass. That sight can return. That the body can recover.

    If someone ever sees lightning at the edge of their eye or spots that grow and swallow their vision, I want them to remember this. I want them to know that they are not alone. I want them to know that it might be a migraine and that the fear they feel is something many people have lived through.

    Sometimes knowing the name of something makes it less frightening.

  • The Fear of the Unknown

    The Fear of the Unknown

    There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from waiting not the simple kind, but the heavy, aching kind that settles in your chest when you’ve been hoping for something for so long that even hope starts to feel like a burden.

    It’s the fear of the unknown.
    The fear of what if it never happens.
    The fear of what if it happens again the way it did before with disappointment, with broken promises, with people who say one thing and do another.

    You start to lose trust in words.
    In timelines.
    In “soon” and “I promise” and “don’t worry.”

    Because you’ve been tricked before.
    You’ve been let down before.
    And your mind, tired of being optimistic, begins wandering into darker corners the ones where you replay every moment someone failed you, every time you carried more than you should, every time you were the strong one because everyone else leaned on you.

    Being relied on sounds noble until it becomes a weight.
    Until you’re the one holding everything together while quietly falling apart.
    Until you’re tired of being the dependable one, the responsible one, the one who shows up even when she’s running on empty.

    And in the quiet moments the ones late at night, or early in the morning before the world wakes you wonder if it will ever get better.
    If your dreams will ever stop being dreams and become something real.
    If life will give you even a small piece of what you’ve been waiting for.

    You don’t want everything.
    Just something.
    A sign.
    A shift.
    A moment that tells you you’re not foolish for hoping.

    But here’s the truth buried beneath all the exhaustion:
    The fact that you’re still hoping even after everything says something about you.
    It says you haven’t given up on yourself.
    It says your heart, despite the bruises, still believes in the possibility of better days.
    It says your dreams matter enough to keep alive, even when the world feels heavy.

    Maybe the unknown is frightening because it holds both the worst and the best.
    And maybe just maybe part of your story is learning to walk toward it anyway.

    Not because you trust people.
    Not because promises have been kept.
    But because somewhere inside you, there’s a quiet, stubborn part that still believes your life can shift.
    That something good can happen.
    That even if it doesn’t come all at once, a small piece of your dream might find its way to you.

    And when it does, you’ll know it was worth surviving the dark places to reach the light.