To your good health...

I never take my health for granted but my 40^th year more than any other age has highlighted my physical short-comings so rudely that I want to scream: my eyesight has deteriorated to the point where I squint and seem like I’m winking at everybody even with the goggles on, the way gravity pulls my body south, the way the dark circles under my eyes emphasise the thinner skin that was once plump and had collagen to spare; wrinkles telling me my cells are replicating from an ageing blueprint; how my once pert breasts have now become the ultimate happy clappers without a supportive bra and finally how my exercise regime feels more like a torture regime rather than anything good for me. Ok, perhaps not entirely a negative regime as I do actually enjoy exercise. It depends on how tired I am and how far I am prepared to enforce my discipline. Do I go burn off some cellulite or do I gain empty calories lounging around on the sofa eating ice-cream? I know what my inclination would be but I can’t do that to myself. Not every weekend. I remember my post pregnancy back-side, my over exaggerated flabby bits and my huge pendulous mammary glands (then again my cleavage was something to behold). I shudder in horror at the memory with exception my cleavage. Fine for the first 12 months perhaps but it took me 3 years to get back to a reasonable healthy weight. I was technically overweight and I was deeply unhappy. I felt awful, stressed and lethargic. It was like carrying extra bricks in my bag. When the flab starts to compromise your health it’s time to wage war and I did – eventually. Now I just need to delay the arthritis, the diabetes and the rest...all run in the family. Genes have a lot to answer for.

These things shouldn’t bother me, but they do because I care. For one thing I want to be around long enough for my munchkin and if that means taking extra care of myself in order to delay the inevitable where ever possible then so be it. I won’t deny that there is also an element of vanity involved. I’m a woman for freaks sake! You telling me your body doesn’t bother you? If it doesn’t then you lie. Stand naked in front of a mirror and tell me you’re happy with what you see. Go on admit it. There will be at least one thing that you’ll curse yourself for. It’s not how we should be but it is how we are as human-beings; always critical of something and usually ourselves, even if we don’t always admit to it.

I am so obsessed with my mortality right now I’d make Woody Allen proud. There have been nights where I have woken up suddenly and not been able to get back to sleep. And then my mind throws down the gauntlet and presents me with morbid thoughts about death and illness and my house falling apart, and the end of the world. I've had dreams of Godzilla lunching on my sofas and yes, you can stop laughing, I'm revealing my deepest, darkest secrets here. That reptile has some very large teeth. I've even had a visit from the evil Wellsian martians. As yet the men in white coats haven't arrived on my doorstep. It won't be long before they do at this rate. Yes, I’ve watched far too many apocalyptic movies lately. Anyone seen Lars Von Trier’s ‘Melancholia’? Well, you’ll see what I mean about depressing endings if you do. Unlike ‘The Tree of Life’ (Terence Malick) there is nothing redemptive about it, except the end of all things and the fact that there won’t be anything living to remember ‘life’.  Is that redemption?  “We are alone!” I guess when we die it doesn’t matter either way. Told you I was morbid. ‘The Tree of Life’ at least has some sort of upbeat quality to it – a belief in the afterlife and the enduring soul. Some critics have accused it of having overt Christian connotations but I say - so what. It is ultimately positive and - if not a little pretentious and Kubrick-like in its presentation - it makes you think. I am ripe for such existentialism right now. I am so desperate to find something to calm my agitation down that I’ll just about eat up anything that will show me a philosophy that goes some way towards answering my questions to calm my neurosis - however flawed it might be. Perhaps I’ll steer clear of Mr Von Trier, but I do so love his rebellious nihilism. Lucky you if you have complete faith in something. It means you can go to bed at night and not wake up like a startled rabbit in fear of death.

Ok, so now that I’ve admitted to my lunacy and lack of discretion up above I shall now enthral you with why this might be to an extent...

I’m in a fog people, a rather strange, drug induced experience where I’m not quite sure what’s what. Part of me is cursing the feeling of being out of wack with normality and the other is embracing the weirdness of it too. I have decided to write whilst in the throes of a migraine with its edge reduced by a drug infused with Triptan. It helps to reduce my brains excitability apparently. My dear brain is so abhorrent of any chemical changes within my body it likes to screw me over with 3 days of hell every month.  I am a Migraineur: A person who suffers from this incurable brain disease so easily dismissed by most as just a headache. It is a freaking nightmare that leaves me foaming at the mouth with pain. I have learned to manage it if I am to function and carry out my duties as a mother as an employee and as a normal human-being but when I get into Cujo mode (remember Stephen King’s doggy character that had rabies?) I am screwed!  You are bed bound with the vomit monster not far behind and the shakes make me unsteady on my feet. Talk about being at the mercy of my organic matter! Makes me want to take out my brain and wash it under cold running water just to numb the damn cauliflower. Jeez what a living hell! Even when it subsides you’re left with something akin to a hangover. You still cannot think straight and you look at the world as though in a trance. Physically I look like death warmed up. I scare my daughter’s friends in the playground so I wear a hat pretty much pushed over my eyes when I drop her off and pick her up. Then the blessed child attempts to give me a massage when she sees I’m struggling and I know I’ve done well to have given birth to this angel who gives me such unconditional love I could burst into tears.  If you know anyone who suffers from migraine be sure to show some sympathy. It’s not just a headache it’s a debilitating one. There's no faking it, you'll know. It takes away your control and your ability to function normally. Any person who pretends their headache is a migraine just to get out of work or whatever, obviously hasn't met Cujo. You will never fake a headache again if you do, because the experience alone is enough to leave you with a hideously lasting impression. If a doctor has diagnosed you as a migraine sufferer then you’ll probably be on medication for the rest of your life depending on the severity. It is different for everyone and it attacks in different ways. I just pray for a merciful release once I hit the menopause.  I’d rather deal with a hairy chin and grey hair than put up with this. Childbirth is a doddle compared to it, and that’s saying something.

Anyways, I shall not continue my monologue. It’s like talking to myself blog-style. Who reads me anyway? I wouldn’t, truth be told: "I would never want to belong to any club that has me in it for a member". Is it an egocentric thing to write about your experiences in public like this? Perhaps. It's cathartic for me and that is what matters.

Rather I go and feed my stomach something to keep it happy and hope my brain stays calm now the drugs have kicked in. Your brain might be hungry too. It’s an amazing organ when it behaves. Go feed it organics...