Category: MigraineGothic
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Take a ride with me (a short story)
The car door opened and an old lady, dripping rainwater, jumped into the passenger seat of Ruth’s vehicle. Before Ruth had a chance to collect her wits and object, the stranger said, “take me to the hospital.” Ruth glanced between the soggy stranger, the door-buttons that hadn’t locked as they…
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An Uncanny Story (Part Two)
Last week, for Halloween, I wrote a short story (here) that finished on a cliffhanger. Many of you asked – “what happens next?” (YAY!) So here it is, a brief interruption to my regular mindful-healing posts, and another sojourn into the uncanny… let there be answers… (and a few more…
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A story uncanny
I’ve been experimenting with ways to help people understand what it’s like to live with chronic migraine. This blog is part of my endeavors, as are the short stories I write under the genre-name I refer to as “Migraine Gothic”. After I’d written a few posts (here), I put several…
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Making a monster of your chronic pain
Many, many months ago I wrote about how living with chronic migraine was akin to a horror story filled with darkness and jump scares (here). Elsewhere, I suggested that one way to reduce your suffering was to imagine your migraine-mess as part of a silly sitcom rather than a horrible…
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Eating crow
Every now and then I venture onto social media to see what the world thinks about global issues. Once upon a time, the platforms seemed to provide a more honest sneak-peek behind the curtains of mainstream media and the way they chose to frame the news. Now, in all honesty,…
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The three ghosts of Christmas migraines
I’ve never been a huge fan of Charles Dicken’s story “A Christmas Carol” (1843). The cranky old selfish man Ebenezer Scrooge was a horrible central character, and yes, I know that he undergoes an epic character arc which redeems him… but still… what kind of person picks on a child…
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BRAIN-FOG (a short story)
Carey shook hands with the call center’s floor manager and then tucked her hand back into her jacket pocket, trying to hide the fact that she was wiping his sweat off her fingers. She followed Mr Abaddon’s skinny shoulders and wide hips towards her new cubicle, bemused by his strange…
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Deprivation (a short story)
On a derelict property, located on some backwater road of a forgotten suburb, there was a small shed. Inside the shed was a portable table, on which there was a candle, burnt half-way down as it rested on its tin-can platter. The room had a door to the outside, and…
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SWIPED (a short story)
“One last time,” Jim said as he opened the dating app. He hated to think how much time and money he had wasted to go nowhere and get nothing, but today could be his lucky day so, “one last time.” He popped a heart onto several lovely lady’s profiles, skipped…
The Mindful Migraine 