▶ Migraine – Twenty One Pilots
Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.
When a thought is stuck in your head, it won’t leave easily. It’s stuck, pinned, immovable. You find yourself thinking about that one issue and you lose entire hours you’ll never get back. Mine is my future. There is not a single moment where I’m not imagining it: what I’ll do after my diploma and my degree, my job, my spouse, my death. My death, oh dear heavens. I hate thinking about when and how I’ll die because of my headache, my damn deathly headache but I can’t help doing it. It’s my bossy fiancée, my impertinent wife. She won’t leave me because she knows I need her, otherwise I wouldn’t ask for her presence so often. I can’t survive without her because she can both frighten me and deceive me because she can calm my thirst for knowledge at that very moment. I spend half-days, especially on Sunday, just lying on my bed and making either realistic or utopian plans; plans I’ll never give birth to, plans that probably won’t ever see the light I see everyday, plans that oughtn’t exist.
My death. I hate deaths, mostly others’ deaths; your life does not belong to you only: once you’re dead, well, it’s not a problem of yours anymore; instead, you leave this burden, this now useless weight to the people around you who love you. You’ll be missed by them, not by yourself, of course. You’ll be dead.
Does saying that I’m afraid of dying make me another ordinary and basic person? I feel like it does but that’s the truth and I can’t hide it.
Here it comes, mrs Headache. I’ve missed you and I know now you’ll be able to cure me of the disease you caused.
Learn how to greet your mrs. Headache. You’ll get used to when you are the one who visits her.