Page 8 - jesse book

irreverent cartoon character. I took the sound medical advice as divine rite and tried not to think about it further.
Unfortunately, however, at 5 am on a Friday morning, in your mother’s guest bedroom, after a revolting dream, it’s not so easy to ignore. Out of respect for myself and the notion of not reliving trauma, I cannot disclose exact subject matter, but the dream I had just had involved something completely horrifying.The quakes had come, as I knew they would, and started to take control. This bout was particularly strong; almost feeling like prehensile goosebumps. The pins and needles had grown arms and legs and were pushing my body like an internal marionette.
I stayed stiller than a corpse for another 15 minutes, as the physical manifestation of my anxiety ran its course. When it was over, I took the remaining bit of strength and padded towards the kitchen for a glass of water. There was a bottle of Prosecco in the fridge that I heavily considered chugging until I couldn’t breathe.
Some residual jolts had still come and gone before I scuttled back to my room. Clothes, makeup, and other various items were strewn across
my bed in the midst of packing. I pushed them all to the side and laid, stomach down, on the sweaty sheets. My eyes felt see through, like broken projectors; playing the same segment of my dream over and over again. The clock read 8:30 when I finally looked up and my mother yelled asking me if I wanted coffee. I knew she would make me some no matter how I responded.
For the whole rest of the day barely a peep could be heard from me. Seeing as how I speak faster than a roadrunner on steroids normally, my mother had caught wind and asked what was wrong. I relegated it as “moving nerves” and brushed it off. How could I tell her that my brain was telling me I was repulsive, that I should be institutionalized. That from a small glimmer of a dream, otherwise known as a subconscious frenzy, my head was cooking up a future filled with white padded walls, syringes, and any other completely antiquated iconography of a mental asylum.
“When everyone finds out what you think about, they’re finally going to get rid of you” came out of my ears like parseltongue.
It was all I thought about. It’s all I could think about, nothing was more