"Do you understand what I've told you?"
You're standing in the psychiatrist's office. He hands you a pamphlet on your options - it doesn't make sense.
There's a hum, a buzz. Is it the lights? No. It's an itch at the back of your skull.
At home, you're pacing the second floor. It doesn't make sense. You just need to get through this semester, and everything will be fine.
[[You go to bed anxious.]]
[[You have a drink to help you sleep.]]You toss and turn. The clock's barely moved.
11:47.
11:52.
12:11.
12:13.
12:19.
You decide to study. You don't remember anything, and it doesn't put you to sleep.
1:14.
1:28.
1:33...
9:46.
You're already late for class. You decide that next time you're just going to knock yourself out.
[[You graduate.]]It's peaceful. The buzzing fades away, and all the thoughts that came with it.
You wake up a bit dehydrated, but you feel better. You drink two glasses of water before you go to class.
When exams roll around, you start having a beer while you study. One turns into three. It makes time go faster, you feel more productive. You do well.
[[You graduate.]]Your brother gives you an engraved flask as a graduation present. You drive down to the lake and drink together.
The buzz is waiting for you when you return.
//They're watching you.
Maybe I should have spaghetti for supper? Italian sausage, peppers...
Should text Kaitlyn, see if she wants to go for a drink.
Put the knife in your eye.
Don't forget the laundry.//
The thoughts all feel the same. You don't have enough money to see the psychiatrist again, but you have enough money for a bottle of rye. It's usually worst late at night - it's just to help you sleep.
[[You get a good job.]]Back when there was such a thing. It's out west, far from family. But your brother's moving to the coast, so you decide you'll go see him for one weekend a month.
It's hard at first; the quiet of your new apartment makes the buzz seem so much louder. But you settle into the routine soon enough. You make a few friends.
You go out for drinks after work. One of your co-workers smiles at you, and you notice how their eyes crinkle up at the corners. You think you catch them looking at your mouth.
[[Ask them out.]]
[[Let the moment pass.]]The thought comes in as you open your mouth, fills it with choking absence.
//Hit them with the glass.//
You go to the bathroom instead, but you can't stop seeing it. You stare at the porcelain to keep from closing your eyes. You're nearly vibrating. You could never talk to them like this - you could never inflict this on them.
The moment passes. You go home and pour yourself another drink.
On Monday, you know you're going to have to face them.
What's the harm in a small sip before work?
[[Deadlines close in.]] You spare a brief thought for what could have been.
The next weekend, you go to visit your brother. You talk about your coworker, and he encourages you to go back and give it a shot. You brush him off.
The buzz itches at the back of your head, and you're grateful they never had to see what it does to you.
[[Deadlines close in.]]Work gets harder. The project calls for overtime. You can feel yourself stretching out like chewed gum.
You get the call in the afternoon - a car crash. Random chance.
Your brother is dead.
[[The world becomes a blur.]]You start taking the flask with you to work. //To honour him.//
A co-worker sees you drinking in the bathroom and rats you out. They always had it out for you.
The buzz is waiting for you at home. You lose yourself in it. You close the blinds so no one can see you. You wear sunglasses when you go to the liquor store.
The landlord holds a grudge. You tell him you're a week out from getting another job.
He's probably been waiting for an excuse to kick you out. That's what you tell yourself.
[[You become one in thirty-thousand.]]The circumstances don't matter. It's all erased the moment a bystander clocks you - you become everything they see.
Dirty. Lazy. Dangerous.
The colours of your story run into the street and nobody notices. Nobody who matters, anyway.
The things you took for granted become everything. Your stomach growls. The buzz is creeping back in.
And you simply keep existing.
↶↷"Do you understand what I've told you?"
You're standing in the psychiatrist's office. He hands you a pamphlet on your options - it doesn't make sense.
There's a hum, a buzz. Is it the lights? No. It's an itch at the back of your skull.
At home, you're pacing the second floor. It doesn't make sense. You just need to get through this semester, and everything will be fine.
You go to bed anxious.
You have a drink to help you sleep.