Just a Headache

It arrives without warning like a sudden, unwelcome guest.  No visible red flag signals its approach.  It is stealthy; manifesting out of the surrounding air, a prickly sensation forms and is closely followed by immediate discomfort.  Any initial confusion is swiftly replaced with recognition.  I guess I have a headache.  

As it lingers and compacts, I grow restless.  It feels worse than normal, as if I've been struck across the top of my skull and yet my eyes saw nothing to support this thought.  But, what if I had?  What if my eyes were lying to me?  The uncomfortable notion persists along with the increasingly prevalent pain.  Eventually, I relent against my mind's powerful persuasion and move to suss out the source.  

I slowly reach up and feel around.  At first, nothing feels out of place, but then I feel something; a hard cylinder-like shape located just above my head.  No… not merely above, but attached.  Grasping it sends out ripples of pain.  Worry morphs into panic as I try to keep a brave face.  Without a way to see myself, I am forced to rely on my sense of touch and use its shape to decipher what it might be.  It is something with a long handle and it is lodged in deep.  That is when I feel the other end that lies embedded in my skull as my fingertips graze over cold, sharp steel.  

My panic turns to denial.  It's fine.  This is fine.  Everything is fine.  I feel as though I might crumble to dust if I even acknowledge it.  Therefore, I won't… ever.  An explanation is all that is needed.  Who's to say I haven't had this ever since I was born?  What proof could there possibly be to support the ridiculous claim that I have never before had an axe deeply slotted into the top of my head?  And even if it hadn't been there before, what does that change?  It changes nothing.  How could it, when I know that I am right so long as I never accept reality.