At night, my apartment, I mean wherever I happen to stay, turns into a memory museum. Floors creak too loudly, the faucet starts sounding like a concert and overall, everything gets too loud. I listen for a breath, a footstep, a BLEP that is not familiar. If I hear or see something, I get up and check like my life depends on it. Nothing feels wrong and I feel a little relief, yet the tour in my mind persists. It is good that I checked. How would I have known otherwise, if I had never checked for an intruder? What if someone was trying to get in? Every night feels less like fear of danger and more like an ongoing training. Listening to nothing while wearing noise cancelling headphones helps this spiral.
Nowadays, nights have been feeling crowded by a presence I can’t prove. Sometimes I hear, feel or see it but there is no way of proving it. I walk the rooms and feel no safer, I check the door and feel no safer, I look at myself in the mirror and feel no safer.
When I need to step outside, because I won’t step outside unless I absolutely need to do so, the same current runs through me. While getting ready to go out, my pulse goes forward without me. Outside, I pass for myself but feel like an imposter. It is a familiar arrangement. My body says I am in danger; the facts of the situation say I am going to meet up with friends.
Emotionally, I feel flat. My wanting to do anything is thin. I tear up for no reason, which makes my flatness more confusing. In my mind, a voice talks to me, advising me. “You need a warmer tone in your voice.” “Try a lighter face.” “This would be a good moment to sound excited.” “Answer the people in your notifications.” My shell ignores it.
I feel like this for a couple days, then one morning I wake up and I feel like I am on cloud nine. Everything is brighter, my coffee tastes better, my mother loves me, my boyfriend isn’t going to leave me, I matter. Yet, while feeling this way, deep down, I can’t help but feel like this state of mind is a façade. I remember being on a lower dose of Prozac and being able to feel the ‘’okay’’ filter the pill sliced through me. Like an additional layer between my skin and bones. On the days when I feel better, I feel as though I’m still taking Prozac, without being aware of it.
It feels like there’s always another layer between me and the world. Whether it’s fear, flatness, or the Prozac kind of numbness. At night the apartment creaks again, and the cycle reminds me that I am both watching for intruders and waiting for myself to knock on my door.
I Don’t Feel Real Most of the Time is relevant to this.
