It starts off as small things that gnaw at your brain, then they're called pet peeves: things that grind your gears the wrong way. Dogs barking too loud, car horns, busy traffic noises, somebody chewing food with their mouth open, nail biting, fingers tapping on a table, knees bouncing.
The list can go on forever.
But when those little things start to become too much, what happens then? What does our brain do to cope with the abuse it's intaking from the outside world?
It breaks. It's like throwing a rock at a pane of glass, and watching it fracture on impact in slow motion. It's delicate to slowly see the glass appear damaged, as scars trail upwards and outwards. But then, the slow motion turns to real time, and all we hear is the smash. The stone hurled through glass, and it sounds like a gun going off.
Inside our brain.
And when we look out into the world, to see if it's been affected, we learn it's void of colour and grace, as it had once been. Shadows lurk everywhere. Grey storm clouds threaten with thunder. Grey sidewalks and city streets. Grey cars driving aimlessly past. Grey traffic lights, going through the motions, all in grey.
And everything sounds muted, like a black and white TV with the volume turned low. Sounds don't appear piercing to our ears as they'd once been.
And we feel like we're floating and drowning all at the same time. Our staff wants to hurt, in fear of what's happening, but it feels suspended in air. Our feet feel heavy and light all at once. Our heart is beating in overdrive and also not beating at all.
Nobody is looking at you. Nobody notices you. You're a ghost.
So you scream at the tip of your lungs. Does anybody care? Has anybody else felt what I have just been through? Will anybody understand what's happening to me?
What is happening to me?
It must be a side effect, but after that, everything moves like a blur. One minute, you're here, focusing and listening and taking life in. The next minute, you're gone, lost in some dark cosmic space you can't seem to navigate. Time slips from your fingers.
And just like that, everything you once knew, is strange and frightening and dangerous, and ever-shifting.
You must now learn to live in it.
YOU ARE READING
365 pt 2
Non-FictionHere's a continuation of 365, the story where I do my best to write SOMETHING every day. Wattpad has a chapter limit of 200, and that was reached on July 19th. So, the rest of the year will be written in this, I guess. The first 200 days of the year...
