I have nothing. I lie here empty and uncertain of why exactly I’m hurting. There’s an uneasiness that settles throughout the spaces that have been worn through my mind. It’s the kind of feeling of being trapped. Of falling and having no way back.
An invisible hand reached through my neck, cutting my breath short, pulling my consciousness away until it was completely detached from my body.
I could move, but only very slowly.
I could see, but everything was choppy, as if I was looking at a broken screen.
I could hear, but it was like I was underwater. Voices seemed far away and echoed even though they came from right in front of me.
I instructed myself to smile, to move my head every once in a while so no one would know anything was wrong. I robotically carried out these actions when I could.
I sat beside myself and saw the dead, faraway look in my eyes. The blank face. My body swayed unsteadily. I felt nauseas, as if my body was a rocking boat and I was dangling off the edge.
I somehow found my way home and fell into a long and uneasy sleep.
Disgust. Shame. Hatred. Anger. They pour into my skull with a violent, jarring crash.
It’s like leaving a loud concert and suddenly realizing everything has gone quieter, more muffled. It’s your ears adjusting to the repeated assault of loud noise.
I am suspended from my body, like the outline of my mind is a centimetre or two off from the outline of my figure. All perceptions are fuzzier. My vision blurs. I hear sounds as if they’re hundreds of miles away. I can’t feel my body.
I’m not sure whether I should throw up. Or scream. Or hurt myself. Maybe I’m better off like this. Maybe I should find better earmuffs.