Author: Phil Cibicki
Dedicated to Ian & Annie, who would most understand what I’m talking about here. Thanks for the time I had with both of you and for showing me how to listen, to be kind, and to have an open mind.
- I can’t tell which drops come from my tears and which drops come from the shower I’m in.
- I can witness the most beautiful sunset ever, ignited with beams of gold and ruby that glow in a sooty sapphire sky dotted with diamonds.
- I can sleep 14 hours a night, but that isn’t enough. Neither are all the three-hour daytime naps. Sleep becomes my drug and I can find myself addicted to it.
- I can always be at least three steps ahead of others in conversations, finishing their words before they are ever spoken. I can predict their future and people begin to wonder how I can read their minds.
- I watch and do nothing as the red-bubbled numbers above my text, voicemail, and email applications suddenly appear and climb exponentially within a few days. I stay frozen in isolation.
- I feel enraged when I try to talk and start to stutter, realizing my words can no longer keep up with my thoughts.
- I drift off to bed most nights praying that I never wake up again.
- My journal explodes with creative ideas until they become scribbles no one will ever understand. My pages contain lines of code and strange shapes that fluctuate with my emotions.
- I can’t see color. Instead, I experience only tones and shades of gray like sketched charcoal.
- I finally understand the universe—from the theory of everything, to why my uncle remained single, to what love is all about. Questions cease to exist.
- I vaguely remember how easy it used to be to brush my teeth. Now it’s a conscious 17-step struggle. And that’s just brushing my teeth.
- I can morph into the life of the party, cracking so many witty jokes that everyone leaves with sore mouths and stiff abs.
- I can notice confusion crawl across the faces looking back at me because I can’t concentrate enough to create my own coherent sentences.
- My only remaining safe place is my bed and even that I hate with my entire being.
- I decide to climb Mount Rainier in less than a week’s notice and do it, despite strong reservations from my family and friends.
- I feel soft clothes as suffocating, warm water as irritating, and acoustic melodies as deafening. Everything becomes extremely uncomfortable.
- I eat more medications most days than I eat food, but it all tastes and looks the same.
- I realize that each day of life is now more productive than each year preceding it.