Page 9 - jesse book

important. Not prospects of a new job or a completely new city to live
in. All that mattered was a nightmare, and more specifically what the nightmare whispered. At first the thoughts began as a rolodex, constantly flapping between the same cruel whispers and utterances, what could this mean? Yet as I plummeted, they only grew stronger. By Monday, two days past and two days before I was supposed to leave, the thoughts had turned to vivid, complete images, clips even, like a demented Carousel Slide Projector.
I, of course, had diagnosed myself with intrusive thoughts, a condition classified as “unwanted thoughts or images that you find distressing and/ or disturbing.” I tried to distract myself by shoving everything I owned into my tiny Elantra and pondering life’s greatest question: “how did I accumulate so much shit”.
Although, it was to no avail, as every night without fail I stared at the ceiling, mouthing “please stop”, “please stop” to my own brain.
The thoughts tucked me in, and shook me awake. They stopped me dead in my tracks and go into complete tunnel vision. I had tried, since my pseudo diagnosis, to talk to myself, a pastime I had enjoyed and even found solace in, since I was a child.
When images became lengthy scenarios, I stopped in front of my mother’s vanity mirror and said, “Stop it!”. My reflection had the worst poker face. “You are not this person”, “You have not and will never be this person”. Through tears I shouted “You would never, never do these things! Even the thought of them makes you sick”. The affirmations helped, even if only for a couple of hours.
By Wednesday, the day before I was supposed to leave, I felt like I swallowed napalm. My gallbladder was next to the television remotes, my pierced nipple floated in a molding coffee cup, and my entrails hung ceremoniously from the curtain rod like fairy lights.
I remember these days being some of the absolute stillest of my entire life.
Every minute hung in the air like an acrid humidity. My whole body felt like it was 300 ft underwater, each step trudged was harder than the last. My head was constantly pounding, and I was so severely dehydrated that I would see television static whenever I sat up.