DON'T BELIEVE THE DECEIVERS!

PARANOIA

            It's hard to tell if it's day or night, living in a basement apartment seems to make the days slip away. It was the only thing affordable in the city, not personally wanting to live in the school dorm. Too crowded, you needed your space from human interaction, anxiety always seemed to scream this unconsciously, as if it was a physical being.

Its currently spring break, and instead of going to party's and getting so wasted you couldn't remember the past nights events, you were stuck between procrastinating or constant ideas being worked into the screen of your computer. Contacting friends or family was too much work for a while. Five days seems to be a lot to other people, but you can't help getting so pulled into the graphic design projects. They all know first hand about how easy it is for you to work yourself into oblivion. Rolling with it is easier than getting sucked into a stalling heap of depression. Not seeing the sun for days at a time is normal. It seems to always cause concern between the friend group. You digress, avoiding the issue all together as always.

Breaking from the tunnel vision of working is slightly disorienting. All of a sudden you can hear your surroundings like a bubble was popped, the slight hum of the fridge in the background steals away any previous concentration. Looking around, the stillness of the apartment makes an uneasy feeling start to rise inside your chest.

Writing with a pen and paper sometimes gives a slight relief from the paranoia of everyday life. Not to mention helping to relax the strain your eyes are constantly put through. Writing like this can't be changed by anyone, and is a safe place to put thoughts. Even if someone reads it they can't alter what you had written down. You're sure they could probably scratch it as much as possible but under those layers the truth of what you wrote is still there. Perhaps you should look into that. Maybe get a locked diary of some sort, your brain never lets you forget how much it prefers to keep any thoughts or feelings away from prying eyes.

Getting out of your old office chair that you happened to find at a garage sale just down the street, stumbling towards the small kitchen nook to grab some coffee. It feels like you haven't actually slept in months. Apparently insomnia is good at that. Pouring out your favorite brew you take a sip before it even cools down, the warmth of it sliding down your dry throat slightly burning your tongue on the way down. Out of the corner of your eye, across the small living space you see the front door. You don't leave your apartment often, but having not seen a single person in five days, its slightly off putting. Not even hearing the obnoxiously loud apartment owner who lives above you and is constantly banging on your neighbors door for rent. You don't know why he hasn't kicked them out yet, assuming there is more to the situation; gossip wasn't exactly your thing. Keeping that to yourself, deciding to change out of the stained shirt that's probably been worn for too long now, throwing on an old hoodie slipping on some socks before walking out into the hallway.  You slightly trip over your own feet past the vending machine that is half empty the contents probably expired. Seeing the old newspaper stand that hasn't had newspapers in it for the past year. Who needs news written down when they have their phones for that? This thought happens to bring out a rare sound of amusement before walking up the new basement steps that were put in about a month ago, strolling towards your favorite nook at the top of the stairs. Pulling out your phone, checking for messages and see no one has tried to contact you.

"I guess no one wanted to disturb me." You whispered under your breath. The quiet words still sounding loud out in the open. Again uneasiness creeps across the skin under the warm sweater, goosebumps pop up spreading like a rash. Disassociating for an unknown period of time, you finally come back to reality when you see the bright lights of the phone once more.

Ignoring this swiping through the apps on your phone going to Ashley's number, alphabetically your only best friend from the start of college is easy to find. The phone rings three times before it hangs up. Concern and confusion clouds your mind. She had her phone on her all hours of the day. A crudely bitten finger nail hovers over the "call" button. Right before trying to call her again. A shrill ring tone blares through the still air, under the number the contact is "unknown." Answering the phone with caution preparing for an annoying call salesman regarding your nonexistent cars extended warranty. Timidly a quiet voice that you recognize offhandedly as your own answers.