A Slip of the Mind
The fog had crept up on me, slowly, slowly. It was just a whisper at first, a suggestion. 'You want to feel like you used to. Don't you want to feel comfortable again?' The little shake of the head to get rid of that voice became increasingly insufficient. 'Go away', I whispered, 'I'm not that weak.' I guess I was wrong. That whisper became louder, the fog thicker. The sternness of my voice turned into shouting, more and more desperate as the sound became lost in the fog.
I've been watching trigger porn in this bathtub for how long now? I don't know. My brain feels numb, but my body is paralyzed with panic. Fuck you. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou. I need to fix this. I need to cancel it out somehow. Come on, breathe. I try to inhale but it gets caught in my throat, it feels like its breaking my ribs. I'll just let it pass then. Won't do it again.
It's nighttime, and the fog is thick sludge polluting the gray matter in my skull, eating away at my lungs. The nightmares are back. They bleed into the fabric of reality. I'm still awake, aren't I? I open my eyes and they're still there in the shadows of my light polluted room. They're laughing at me.
I'm running backwards through time. I'm back to this. I'd forgotten how this truly felt, I remembered it only in concept: having no self. My mouth moves and someone else is talking. I hate every word, every tone. STOP FUCKING TALKING. No response. I try to remember who I am but there's only a vague image in muddy water and its mouth is distorted in an eerie grin.