Sarkastickunt

Usually as a twinge. A sore muscle. An ache. An itch. A bug bite. A migraine.

Then it becomes a thought. A nightmare. An implanted idea so deep you think about it whether you want to, or not. You can try to push it away, you may even think you’ve done it. But your subconscious keeps it going. Fans the flames. Snowballs it until it’s a gigantic avalanche you can’t seem to outrun.

It manifests. You’re out with your kids. You eat something new. You hear a story about a stomach flu. Or an allergic reaction. And then your brain starts to shuffle and rumble and spew it’s demons. And before long you’re feeling flush in your face. Tightness in your left arm. Nausea. Scratchy throat. Headache. Cold sweats. You feel dizzy. Lightheaded. You think you’re going to pass out. Or worse.

It starts out as a pain. And then it ends with you wishing you were normal. Wishing you weren’t like this anymore. Praying you were somebody else. Jealous of strangers. Hoping for your old brain back. The brain that feared nothing. Giving anything to not be broken anymore.