Yes, a migraine can be a serious problem for you, especially before you learn how to manage seizures. But all is not lost. Many writers and artists of the disease inspired creativity.
We turned to the Internet and other sources of information to cheer you up a little. The following are examples of paintings, prose and poetic works written by people who suffer from migraines, or those who sympathize with them.
And of course, you can not ignore the classics. The most famous, and very accurate and emotional, description of a migraine attack can be found in the book “Master and Margarita” by Mikhail Bulgakov. The writer suffered from migraine, and in his time the triptans were not created yet. Perhaps that is why he experienced such severe attacks. Note that in the scene from the novel there is both the prodroma and the main phase of the pain with all the accompanying symptoms. Here is a description of a migraine attack in Pontius Pilate:
“More than anything, the procurator hated the smell of rose oil, and everything now foreshadowed a bad day, as this smell began to haunt the procurator from the dawn. It seemed to the procurator that the pink scent exuded cypresses and palm trees in the garden, that the damn pink jet mixed with the smell of leather and the convoy. From the outbuildings in the rear of the palace, where the first cohort of the twelfth lightning legion arrived with the procurator in Yershalaim, smoked into the colonnade through the upper garden, and to the bitter smoke, which indicated that the cooks in the centurias began to cook dinner, mixed with the same fat. pink spirit. O gods, gods, what are you punishing me for?
“Yes, no doubt! It is she, again she, an invincible, terrible disease of hemicrania, in which half a headache hurts.
There are no means from it, there is no escape. I’ll try not to move my head. ”
A chair had already been prepared on the mosaic floor by the fountain, and the procurator, without looking at anyone, sat in it and extended his hand to the side.
The secretary respectfully put a piece of parchment into this hand. Not refraining from a painful grimace, the procurator squinted, overlooked what was written, returned the parchment to the secretary …
At the same time, the procurator was sitting like a stone, and only his lips moved a little while uttering the words. The procurator was like a stone, because he was afraid to shake his head with a flaming hellish pain.
The procurator wanted to rise, place the temple under the stream, and so stand still. But he knew that this would not help him.
There was silence. Now both sick eyes looked hard at the prisoner.
Still grinning, the procurator glanced at the arrested man, then at the sun, steadily rising up above the equestrian statues of the hippodrome, which lies far below to the right, and suddenly in some kind of nauseous agony thought that it would be easiest to expel this strange robber from the balcony, saying only two words: “Hang it.” To drive out the convoy, leave the colonnade inside the palace, order the room to be darkened, fall on the bed, demand cold water, call the dog, nicknamed Bang, in a plaintive voice, and complain about hemicrania. And the thought of poison suddenly flashed seductively in the painful head of the procurator.
Pilate raised his martyr’s eyes to the prisoner and saw that the sun was already quite high above the hippodrome, that the beam had snuck into the colonnade and was crawling towards Yeshua’s worn sandals, which was avoiding the sun.
Then the procurator rose from his chair, clasped his head, and the horror expressed on his yellowish, shaven face. But he immediately suppressed him with his will and again sank into a chair … “