Lockdown

Neuropathologic examination reveals a rather normal looking brain,

I wonder -- if you experience the same crushing pain I feel with not having you around; if you long for the same touch, that feeling of being at home. I wonder if you hear a similar voice in your head, one that you wish you could stop but also wish would keep going: a voice that screams your name amidst the chaos of our present world.

I wonder if you would have the courage to tell me if you don't.

The correct treatment, aside from lowering blood pressure, is uncertain.

I can't fathom why this silly brain is always flooded with questions and repugnant scenarios. Have I always been an overthinker? Am I really that insecure, that terrible? If so, why?

The lack of certainty in today and the days to come brings forth fear. The long hours of nothingness don't seem to help either. This monster, this fear -- it subtly creeps in and pushes me to a preternatural state of mind, one where I tend to lose my rational thinking. It makes the flood rise and the only seemingly safe spot is slumber, which hardly comes by. I long for the day when all the second-guessing would stop. Deep down, I know I want to do better, be better. Having that choice to change gives me hope.

In the past, when effective treatment was not available, the outcome was often fatal.

Two sides of the coin, they say. I don't know which of the two I am ready for. I don't even know if there are people who are truly ready. If there are, I surely envy them.

All I am sure of is what I feel. It's real; I didn't just make it up. I am beyond fortunate to feel this for what it is, and it is just immensely pure and humbling. If there ever comes a time that fate won't be on my side, I am fairly certain that I won't regret anything that has led me to feel it.

The mechanism is unclear.

I wonder -- that picture, that future -- does that still exist? With everything that has happened, is it clearer or is it just getting more obscure?