When I wrote about the strange correlation between full moon and migraines last year, I didn’t really expect to end up writing a sequel. Like many other blog entries, unexpected events lead me down old familiar paths, and I end up encountering old friends. As you know by now, I am a very disciplined writer, churning out a blog entry a day, almost every day, two on inspired days, and sometimes even writing several in advance and scheduling them for future publication. So when I have a prolonged gap between entries, it is always due to something that has physically prevented me from writing, as is the case with migraines.
This December full moon (which I photographed at dawn this morning) is the current bane of my existence. It has been the catalyst for a dramatic mood swing, emotional roller coaster, and insomnia. I am by nature a disgustingly light sleeper, so much so that I can hear when my senior Persian cat is having trouble breathing and needs her nose declogged. Who else can hear that in their sleep?! I hear the fox prowling around outside, the heron chatting away noisily with his duck companions, and maybe even some distant ambulance.
When a full moon rolls around, Sleep is a treacherous and elusive bastard, leaving me to waltz around endlessly with his good old pal Insomnia. At some point the even more obnoxious Migraine will predictably cut in and sweep me off my feet to a dark and scary place, filled with thoughts that torture into the wee hours of the morning. It is an evil menage-a-trois that goes on for days, and each morning when I get up to make breakfast, I am grumpy, bitchy, and desperate for the strongest possible coffee my machine can churn out, barely able to see straight due to the pain. No trace of a FrogDiva here.
I scoff at the idea of a full moon being the most romantic phenomenon to share with someone. I beg to differ, no, make that violently disagree. I tend to get rather worried during the waxing phases of the moon, knowing that it won’t be long until the full moon returns to imprison me. I become extremely sensitive to temperature, light, and sound. Music, which is normally calming or helps me concentrate, feels like shackles on my soul and all I desire is silence, and as little conversation as possible. Thank goodness for social distancing!
The neurologist gave me two options, to dope me up with strong pain killers, or ride out the pain with high doses of magnesium. Stubborn that I am, and because I have a ridiculously high tolerance for pain, I chose the magnesium route and combine it with the prescribed silence, reduced coffee, and meditation. It sounds too much like a hunky-dory 70s solution but it works for me.
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