I thought I wouldn’t make it without stealing. When I was walking down the hill. And I was thinking to myself that Dr. Dre was a genius. He rapped over a tuba. That doesn’t seem important. It’s literally seven notes over and over. Then he gets Eminem when he was still manic and high to say fuck god and scream and scream and lose his mind. And those seven notes make sense. Bah. Bah bah. Bah bah. Bah bah. (Whatʻs the difference between me and you? Go listen to it). But, I digress.
So, I’m walking down the hill. I feel fibrillation. The subtle vibrations of pre-seizure. My fingers cramp, my hamstrings buzz. They shake, but only I know they’re shaking. I think about Shakespeare and soliloquies, and I repeat in my mind just walk, just walk, just walk. My veins get pronounced. And walking takes a kind of tactile acuity with my toes. Fall and quickly stand. I turn my head behind the bus stop wall and vomit in the trash can quickly so no one notices. I clench, so I don’t shit my pants.
I walk across the parking lot to the gas station with a Baskin-Robbins, and I buy ice cream (pralines and cream) to try to look and smell normal. I buy a razor and shave in the porta-potty to look younger.
The auditory hallucinations become scary. They go from noises to songs to voices. I try to sleep when I finally close my eyes. Just try. The voices say worse things. They are equally unhelpful. Her voice plays on repeat.
This is fiction, but everything actually happened. I may have a few details wrong. I can tell you the color of the vomit. It was oily and almost yellow, and some of it came out of my nose. Its viscosity made me consider my condition. Opaque mucous means slow down, but stop at your discretion. Green-yellow is the rot on a scab. Be aware of it. Take action if it turns black.