"Me, Myself, and I vs. Me, Myself, and I" by Sara Cruise

My back ached as I arched it in my usual, not-so-professional slough on the table. They were talking, sitting in the two chairs adjacent to me, and the stool across from them. The fluorescent light bounced off my white nike socks, off the countertop, off the notebook paper into my eyes.
My eyes. Something felt strange, but I brushed it off; nausea wasn’t foreign to me at this point.

I had to keep listening.  My back felt hot, a wave crawling up my spine from the small of my back. I’ve only gotten this feeling when I’m embarrassed, but in hindsight adding overwhelmed to the list was smart. God, I wished this ringing in my ears would stop. Maybe it was the computer monitor, maybe somebody somewhere was blowing a dog whistle made for humans.

Hey, you never know.

Man, I was really warm. Is long sleeves too much for this New York cold?

Don’t get distracted. Don’t get distracted. I had to keep listening, against my will if nothing else. Each question tightened my stomach a little more. Maybe I should’ve eaten breakfast, I thought. Maybe not, I also thought, because then I’d throw up more than just stomach acid. The words they said jumbled in my head. They flooded into my ears, every comment making the ringing grow louder. And louder.

Has the room always been spinning?

My stomach grew tighter, daring me to burst into flames and combust with all my problems. I had to keep listening. My ears sang, but only I could hear their song. Are you sure a fire alarm isn’t going off? My hands inched their way towards the edge of the table, grabbing it and curling under its corners as if trying to stop me from moving. Was I moving? I didn't remember the room being blue when I walked in. My forehead pounded. Every feature of the room stood out and danced for me as my eyes darted around, looking for anything, anything at all to fixate onto. Was I dreaming? This had to be a dream. I had to keep listening. Every muscle in my body tensed, begging for freedom from the weight on my shoulders, the pressure in my abdomen. Oh no, what were they saying? No time to address the carousel of a room I entered. The ringing crescendoed.

I couldn’t hear anything.

Make it stop, make it stop.

My body threatened a visit from breakfast I never ate. My hands were sweaty, back hot. My neck was baking under my hair, then mostly dangling past my ears. When did I put my head down? Are my eyes closed? How long have I been like this? I mustered all the energy I had left and picked my head up– my back not permitting anything but my hunchback normalcy. Did they see? Did they think I wasn’t okay? I couldn’t draw attention to myself.

I had to keep listening. Any talking would result in a clean up on aisle-4.

The dizziness was getting to me. The lights were no longer sufficient but blinding as I tried to pay attention: facial expressions, lip reading, anything. I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I wanted to shout. My heartbeat picked up. Ah, now all the organs and extremities have joined the torture party. My grip on the table loosened. I looked down. My arms were shaking. Okay, now everyone has arrived– I prayed nobody was fashionably late. My head pounded. If I close my eyes I’ll lose them, I thought. I need to act like everything is fine. Every breath was shallow, not calculated, and life or death. Surprisingly, breathing wasn't even on my to-do list. How long had it been? It felt like an eternity. I was convinced it would never be over, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I thought about making a run for it. I did not know what good that would do. Pushing open the door, leaving behind the heavy conversation and eye contact I wasn’t making. I grabbed hold of the table again. Maybe I’m dying, I thought. I was suffocating, my body flirting with the idea of shutting down completely. My eyes, as open as they could be, found the white lights a muse, not a tool. The world never slowed down, but everything felt like it was in slow motion. The ringing maintained volume, tears begging to fall and stop the madness. Every pump of blood into my brain made me more and more lightheaded, each second me praying harder and harder for everything to stop. My world needed to stop. I had to keep listening. That was a long shot, but it was all I could focus on. The back of my neck was damp. My hands trembled holding onto the edges, as if trying to make my head stop spinning by making my arms stop shaking. The ringing felt like it was going to stay forever, an unwelcome guest in my most vulnerable of places.  [a church bell that never surrenders,]. I couldn’t hear them. I couldn’t pay attention. I couldn’t stop what was happening. I felt paralyzed, helpless. How could I have let this happen? My gut protested moving, breathing, and the like. I can’t live like this, I thought. Every fiber of my being was with me, but against something else. Blue eyes shouldn’t mean blue vision. The white coat only made me feel more powerless in my ordeal. I accepted my fate of utter misery, but I couldn’t stand it any longer.
. . .
My breathing steadied. The ringing in my ears diminuendoed into a whisper. Hands clenching anything and everything, my vision ended its stroll in the House of Mirrors, and I could stare at my socks without exhaling my life’s savings of air into the room, holding down the fort of my reflux. I felt as though all the sun’s heat, trapped in my backside, released into the atmosphere, as if global warming was a side effect of my muscles letting go of their best friend: tension. My arms relaxed, immediately grabbing ahold of my legs, making sure I wasn’t dreaming. I lifted my head up higher– the sentences, never having stopped, once again filtering into my brain.

I had to keep listening.
. . .
Incredible how two minutes can feel like a lifetime.