An itch. A twitch. Just one second and I am no longer myself. A nerve goes haywire and my body instantly reacts, it transcends to a war zone in which the battle is already fought and won and I don’t even know it. The restlessness is immediate and powerful, it encompasses my thoughts and my reactions.
First line of response should be a cerebral decision, one of dismissal and acceptance – it happens every day – but not this time. Now I have to see it through, like Virgil following Sibilla in the Inferno, I am a mere spectator to the show my mind creates. It is subtle, but fierce – it isn’t about me, but it takes place in my body. It shouts: pay attention to me or I will hurt you. It is true, I have seen it.
Sometimes it’s like chamber music, barely noticeable and yet very much there. Other times it’s a violin concerto, short and brisk. It can be a symphony, elegant and powerful. But those are manageable. When it becomes an opera, intricate and with variations, you see for what it can really be: passionate, precise and poignant; elegantly tuned so it ravishes all your senses – this is no mere doodle, it’s the highest form of art that you can experience.
It comes in the morning as I wake up, just a little daze – insignificant, but powerful enough to let me know things are not how they usually are or should be. Sometimes it goes away in minutes, other times I carry it with me for hours, either constantly or on and off. But the hardest part is always at night, relaxation is the enemy and it comes after me with a vengeance just so I cannot accept it. Like an Ouroboros it feeds on itself, but it does not consume itself – the goal is to cause chaos, not to damage – but chaos itself creates the most damage – the alterations are sufficient to last and by the time I shake it off another one is ready to come take it’s place. Convinced myself that one area is harmless? No matter. It will move somewhere else. It is me fighting myself, and I will always know the strengths and weaknesses of my guard. Like Sisyphus, ever fighting.