Bad day

1

My head is so heavy. I blink and live a thousand lives, yet not one second lost, and when I awake again my world begins to rotate.
I can barely stay awake. I can barely stay alive.
My body believes I am dead. It urges me to move, and I do - a single message to prove I haven’t perished.
I am not in control of myself anymore.

I am a zombie.
I must return to rest.

2

I can feel my body becoming restless. It wants to move constantly.
But the energy I once would have reserved is long gone.
It feels like there is a second body within mine yearning for escape.

And I can feel my organs. Individually.
My heart beats, and I know how. I feel it contract. I feel it expand. I feel the blood going through, accelerating on to the rest of my body.

It is my only tell that I am not yet dead.

3
My eyes are taking in too much information.
Everything in my sight is a focus. I can’t look at anything specific.

As I write this, I look at the fold in my laptop and yet, I can see my fingers typing as well as the words I am typing.

This is too much information. The sounds envelop me as well. They surround me, and abuse me. There is too much happening.

I am in pain. I want it to stop.
But it is too busy to hear my prayers and too abstract to understand my voice.