When All This Is History: North London, the Land, and Life with a Neurological Disorder
I have never been anything but this ragged, medicated self; I have never been less aware of the ground beneath my feet.
Let this stand as-is, let it become nothing else; in this place, the world ended
oh, poor you, I get migraines all the time.Want a paracetamol? You could try lying down in a dark room.
Describe itIs it stabbing or a dull ache? Put it on a scale where 1 is “mild discomfort.”
Land Registry is definitive, reality is frequently inaccurate, sic transit gloria mundi
Cluster headacheclustercluster attackcluster head
Rivers, railways, roads
Imagine not living here. Imagine not knowing this place, its grass and water, land and sky, as well as you know yourself.
More in this series
It had all started about five or six years earlier, around the first time I fell in love. I didn’t know when it would end.
“My mother assumed I must have done something to bring a rare blood cancer upon myself.”
“I feel like I’m hyperventilating. I can’t stop crying and I can’t breathe. I’m afraid I’m going to drown on dry land.”