When I came to the Human Garage in October of 2015, suffice it to say I was broken. Physically and emotionally.
I’d spent the previous 48 hours violently ill, band-aid markings still in tact from the needle of the IV fluids, replenishing what I’d lost from yet another migraine the days before. This one felt particularly harrowing and violent. Five years of chronic pain exploding through my left temple wore me down. My face in my initial photograph seems sullen and lifeless.
Western medicine doctors told me pregnancy and menopause would cure me. Single and 28-years-old in Los Angeles, neither of those options seemed promising or helpful. E.R. doctors gave me narcotics through my glutes. Neurologists threw countless medications at me.
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