/ horizontal gaze nystagmus

I suffer occasional, unexplained episodes, have suffered the past 15 years. They feel like the onset of bells. They rang so loudly on Monday that my little dog became nervous, and wandered up and down the hall trying to rid her ears of the ringing. She is 13 and deaf, so you can imagine the peal in my own head. She walked near me, as I was in bed, my arm draped over the side, as I do when I experience these attacks, and she licked my hand for awhile, until the bells subsided enough so that she could return to her own bed, directly underneath the space heater, at the entrance to our room. My hands go numb during these times, and the disorienting headaches feel strangely localized, as though they are following grooves like mountain water, long, winnowing streams clearing the sand and ash from the slate. I used to be frightened of and shaken by the experience. I used to hold it in for as long as possible, shut the bathroom door tightly during the multiple trips to release my clouds in private. I try not to look into the mirror, to see how many people I might see. I am always a different person afterwards, but not usually the better for it, and this week I lost something of myself to the most recent host, who was conceited beyond acceptability, and in love with the romantic notions of vice and verisimilitude. My back hurts terribly, I’m assuming from bearing all that worldly weight.