An Unquiet Mind

I am weeping in the shower. Arms wrapped tightly around my knees while the sounds of my open mouthed sobs are dulled by the incessant pelting of the thousands of droplets shooting out of the showerhead. 

I get out of the shower after a short eternity. Not even looking at the towels hanging on the back of my bathroom door, I go straight into my room and lay in my bed, on top of the covers. I am desperate to feel a semblance of safety. I try moving around to find comfort, my wet skin hitching on the polyester blend sheets as I toss and turn.

I’m staring up at the ceiling while the exhaustion of crying settles itself into my body. The raging thoughts that caused the crying in the first place become quieter yet more sinister in nature. I try to clear my mind and fall asleep but the sinister thoughts bleed into my dreams. They are wrought with the feeling of being unsafe and simultaneously on the precipice of danger. I wake several times in the night so my logical brain has a chance to assure me my dreams are not real. At least in my dreams my emotions are matching what is happening to me. My waking hours are spent trying to decipher why I am in fight or flight when there is no imminent danger.

I wake up and decide one thing I can control is the level at which I am connected to the outside world. I end up picking up my phone a total of four singular times the whole day, only consuming ten percent of battery. I notice I do not sense the sinister thoughts creeping in while I take a break from my phone and my menstruation begins to ebb. I feel more like what my “normal” is, a reserved depression. Alternating from reading in silence without so much as a muscle twitch, to having fitful naps in the middle of the day to catch up with my exhaustion. 

I am afraid for tomorrow where I will not have the opportunity to refuse to be connected to the world at large, to the 24 news cycle. I think the sinister thoughts gain some power from being so oversaturated with online connectivity. They gain power by preying on me during a time where my brain cannot regulate my mood. In an effort to try and protect itself from trauma, my brain becomes my biggest bully.