I wish it had never been named. A name has sharpened it, has refined its presence into solid crystals that shimmer, nestled in the folds of my everyday. I hate that shimmer. With every spark, I'm a bit farther away from reality.
As I stare out into the room now, the edges of my vision begin to blur, darkening, dancing. The ceiling slowly starts to melt down into the seats, like tear tracks down dry cheeks. I flinch and blink hard, promising myself it's just a blood pressure issue, a low resting heart rate, something else with a name I can hold onto.
For a few blissful moments, the world stays put. Then, ever so slowly, it starts to drip again. The streaks grow into rivers of colors I can't name. The colors turn into a memory, then a smell, a feeling, and back again. I don't fight it. I can't. I think I'm losing my mind.
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say whatever strikes your fancy, but please, respectfully.