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It’s been an interesting couple of days. They’ve either felt immensely slow or immensely fast. Each one having its own tipping moment; but then it’s back to normal.


I wish I could talk about something else. I wish that whatever this is didn’t take so much space in me. Sometimes I think I was just cursed with a bad brain, but other times it feels a lot more physical than that. 


In moments when my fingers feel like they’re buzzing, or my feet feel like they’re walking a millimeter above the ground as if they’re not touching it; or even when my eyes don’t feel like my own. That’s when I think that there’s no way this is just mental. When I think that there must be something wrong with my veins too. With my blood. With my bones.


But then I’m back. 


Then I feel everything. I feel every dust particle kiss my skin. I feel my blood running through my veins. I feel every hair that sits on my body. 


It all feels like what I imagine breathing fresh air feels like. You know, like how when you’re at the top of a mountain and you inhale your first deep breath of pure, clean air, and you wonder how you’ve been breathing these past years. You wonder, “How has my body survived off of that dirty, phony air?” 


That’s how it feels. It feels like finally my body, and everything around it, is moving together. Instead of in different spaces at different times. It’s settling with itself, admiring itself; and it’s peaceful. 


And then it’s not.


Then it’s my brain. The ‘real challenge.’ The ‘final boss.’ 


Because, in reality, feeling out of touch with your body, feeling like you’re floating above it, you can live like that. You get those moments, and it all comes seeping through, and it’s livable. But feeling like you’re out of touch with your brain, like everything you're saying, and hearing, and seeing isn’t yours but someone else’s to say, and hear, and see, there’s no way you survive that. 


Half of the time, I don’t even realize I’m in the midst of a fight. I’ll just be sitting at my kitchen table, eating lunch, and I’ll realize that I’ve felt like the walls have been watching me all day. Eyes staring at me, through every crevice and crack, and all I can do is perform. All I can do is sit in my room, or talk to my roommate, or use my phone, all while in the back of my head I’m wondering if I’m putting on a good show. 


And then I realize I’m supposed to be fighting back. I was supposed to be sitting in my kitchen, eating lunch, and when I realize that there’s eyes on me, I’m supposed to say, “Stop staring at me!” But now it’s too late. Now the day has finished. Every move I’ve made calculated. And all I can do is hope to win the next one. 


Like I said, I have my moments. My moments when life is a little brighter, and the grass is a little greener, and I wonder how I could’ve ever felt like I don’t belong here. I tell myself, “Next time, I’ll just remember this moment. I’ll remember these feelings, and there’s no way I’ll lose.” But next time comes, and like always, I do. I lose.