Things Change, My Dear

Crazy going slowly am I six five four three two one switch.

I’ve always been a bit off my rocker, seeing shrinks since I was about six or seven. I’m not a psychopath, I don’t have any more problems than anyone else, but they affect my brain in a different way.

I’d never admit this to anyone, but I’ve got crazy brain now. I’m on drugs, but my body never uses them appropriately. It is never enough. They prescribe more, and more, and my brain just rejects them, rejects the higher doses, and leaves me wondering, wondering why.

I’m starting to think crazy things, like someone is coming into my house when I am gone, and putting antifreeze in my dog’s dish, poisoning her, trying to kill her.

Part of my brain says no, that is stupid, no one can come in.

The other part of my brain makes me clean out her water dishes with soap every day when I get home.

When I’m driving home from work, part of my brain tells me, pull over, pull over, there is something wrong with the tires on your car, you’re going to have a massive wreck, and you’re going to die. Pull over. Pull over. Pull over and check to make sure the tires aren’t flat.

The other part of my brain says no, the tires aren’t flat. The tires are brand new. They’re full of air, right to the right amount. Just keep driving.

Pull over, pull over. Hurry up and get home to clean out the water dishes before your dog dies. Hurry. Drive faster. Pull over. The tires are flat. Antifreeze in the dish. Massive wreck.

Even the night brings no relief. I swallow the strongest sleeping pill ever approved by the FDA, but it just propels me into another world, one full of the same anxieties as the awake world forces upon me.

Nightmares. Horrible, vicious nightmares. Someone is breaking in to the house. The alarms aren’t working. I can hear them, but I can’t move. I can hear the door opening. I can’t scream, I can’t hear my dog. She should be barking. Why isn’t she barking? Bark! I try and scream at her to bark, I scream as hard as I can, but nothing comes out. I can hear the person in the house. Why didn’t the alarm go off? Why can’t I move? Then it is there, the outstretched arm, the hand covering my eyes…

Then I awake again, in a cold sweat, double checking the doors, triple checking the alarms, checking to make sure my dog is alive, checking to make sure she is breathing, checking the doors again, checking the exterior security doors, checking under the bed, checking behind the bathroom door, checking behind the living room door, checking, checking checking.

Then I lay back in bed. Two hours until I have to wake up. One hour and fifty nine minutes until I have to wake up. One hour and fifty eight minutes until I have to wake up. One hour and fifty seven minutes until I have to wake up. One hour and fifty six minutes until I have to wake up. One hour and fifty five minutes until I have to wake up.