Migraine Hangover Quotes

When Quoyle leaned forward the twin spears of the headache threatened to dislodge his eyes.

Imagine a migraine, on top of a hangover, while sitting in a kindergarten of thirty screaming children, who are all taking turns stabbing you in the eye with an ice pick.

I had, bluntly, the worst fucking headache I had ever had in my life. I’m trying to think of the best way to describe it. Try this. Imagine a migraine, on top of a hangover, while sitting in a kindergarten of thirty screaming children, who are all taking turns stabbing you in the eye with an ice pick.

I did feel something the next time I regained consciousness. I had, bluntly, the worst fucking headache I had ever had in my life. I’m trying to think of the best way to describe it. Try this. Imagine a migraine, on top of a hangover, while sitting in a kindergarten of thirty screaming children, who are all taking turns stabbing you in the eye with an ice pick. Times six. That was the good part of my headache. It was the sort of headache where the best possible course of action is to lie there motionless and quiet, eyes closed, and pray for death. Which is why I think it took me longer than it should have to figure out a few things.

I had, bluntly, the worst fucking headache I had ever had in my life. I’m trying to think of the best way to describe it. Try this. Imagine a migraine, on top of a hangover, while sitting in a kindergarten of thirty screaming children, who are all taking turns stabbing you in the eye with an ice pick. Times six. That was the good part of my headache.

Some people say that migraines feel like bad hangovers. And some people say that migraines feel like headaches that pulse. And some people say that migraines feel like stomach flu in your head. But what migraines really feel like is being tied to a railroad track while the worlds longest, loudest, freight train thunders over you. It starts with a bright light in the corner of your vision. Very bright. Like someone is standing beside you and shining a flashlight in your eye, but you can't back a light away. Can't turn your head from it. Then you hear the train's shrill whistle, the dull angry clank of the bell, the roar of its engine. By then you're tied to the train track. Hopefully the track is your bed and not a bus stop bench or restaurant table. And you can only try to flatten yourself as the train rushes toward you. Its light flashing and horn blaring. Finally you feel the hot breath of its arrival. Feel the smoky burning exhaust fill your lungs. And then it's thundering over you. Of course the train, the noise, and the light, and the fumes is all in your head. But that's the problem. It's ALL IN YOUR HEAD! You can't escape it. You can only lie on the track, waiting for the roaring, shrieking, light splintering pain to pass. And remember, this is the world's longest train. You'll be here for hours. in this exact position. In this much pain. Lifting your head, even if you were capable of that, which you're not, results in instant decapitation. But decapitation would at least stop the pain and sometimes you wish for it.

The pains of dehydration include dyspeptic pain, rheumatoid arthritis pain, anginal pain (heart pain on walking, or even at rest), low back pain, intermittent claudication pain (leg pain on walking), migraine and hangover headaches, colitis pain and its associated constipation, and false appendicitis pain.

Migraines are another of those maladies that are unfairly dismissed as a mere inconvenience, as opposed to the soul-crushing experience they can be. This, I think, is because a lot of people will get a bad headache once in a while and describe it as a “migraine.” I might have been guilty of that in the past; maybe not. I don’t really recall. I do know that the headaches I began experiencing in the fall of 2012 were uniquely debilitating and painful. They would come on without warning, at any time of the day, usually starting as a soreness in the back of my neck before creeping inexorably upward, crawling across the back of my skull and toward the frontal lobe, until it felt as though my entire head was in a vise grip. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t see straight. All I could do was retreat to the couch or the bedroom—sometimes with a stop at the bathroom to vomit—and sleep away the day. It was like having the worst hangover in the world, when you’ve done nothing to merit the punishment.