On Monday a neurologist diagnosed me with a lingering migraine.

Dizziness, nausea, stabbing headaches, sensitivity to light are symptoms aligned with a migraine.

This is the first time I have been diagnosed with a migraine.

The neurologist ordered some blood work and issued prescriptions for a brain MRI to see if the cerebellum has further degenerated and a CT- Scan of my chest to see if the sarcoidosis is active.

I have lived with the unknown for 5 years. University hospitals, private practices, the National Institute of Health have not been able to figure out what is wrong with me.

But on Monday, this my latest health episode was considered a migraine.

A migraine is an answer. An ailment that is known. That they have commercials for. And pills for. And when I tell people “a migraine” they understand.

Yet sometimes my health makes me feel lonely.

After the confusion and frustration and anger there breathes loneliness.

Why?

Because my health is complicated. It’s not understood. And no matter you’re gender, race, creed, or health condition we all yearn to be understood.

To be understood is a fundamental human need.

(That’s one reason why I founded Write on Fight on…a journey to find connection and understanding.)

We so desperately want people to understand our story because we so desperately fear the exclusion and isolation and sadness that comes with being misunderstood.

“No one understands me” syndrome is one we all suffer from.

When I take inventory, so much of my life makes sense. The family, the friends, the job, the suburban house.

But when my health spirals and I get dizzy and loose my balance, I spin into a state of selfish questioning:

Why me? Why can’t they find a cure? Why isn’t me life going as planned?

It’s in these lonely minutes where I must remind myself that we’re all misunderstood.

That, from time to time, we’re all lonely.

That no one’s life is going as planned.

And that we’re ultimately defined by the strength we display in our weakest hours.

Sometimes I have to remind my stubborn, yet fragile, male ego that reserving time to heal is not weakness.

And some days, like today, I have to tell myself that I’m doing okay.

I hope you do the same.

Be well,

Jay