By Molly Rene

Something isn’t right.

There is a monster that follows me. Not just follows… possesses. Always there. Always watching. Her shadow creeps through my veins like the calm before a storm. Then it happens. I can feel claws on my chest and pressure behind my eyes. I feel myself slipping away. She’s here. Sometimes she disappears – but only momentarily. In the back of my mind, I know she’s biding her time, like a lioness that is waiting for that faulty-legged antelope to miss a step. That’s when she strikes.

Something isn’t right.

I rub my eyes and run my bitten down nails through my stringy hair. She’s here. She stays. I whimper, silently, knowing what is coming: the cage. It is where I live while she wreaks havoc on my life. It is a suffocating place where the walls close tighter and tighter. A claustrophobic nightmare. Once she locks the door, I want to hit her, stab her, burn her, make her feel the pain I feel. But I can’t. She exists inside me. When I am banished to the prison, it’s like watching my life through a periscope; it is real but far far away. I am not a participant, just an observer. There is no void or loss of control but there is something greater… I lose my sense of reality. Life becomes a dream in which I cannot wake up. I begin to question my own life. Is anything real? Does anything matter?

Something isn’t right.

My heart races. It has been two seconds since she took control. This invisible monster who thinks she is needed. Wanted. My breath quickens and I watch from my cage to see if the people I love can see her. Do they see me? Do they know I am not in control? I smile. I nod. I say nothing. I shake my head, trying to force away the thoughts like a swimmer tries to force water out of their ears. Heart rate: 130. Am I dying?

Something isn’t right.

Adrenaline kicks in and I am suddenly pushing against the bars in my cell. I try to placate the monster in the only way I know how: distraction. Sitcoms usually do the trick. What’s a better distraction than melodrama and laugh tracks? While she watches, I tell myself that I am real. I am safe. She steps away from my mind, snarling. I can see the cage opening. I emerge; damaged but present. The days that follow rock me. Though she is gone, I can feel her presence. There is a collar around my neck and she is holding the leash. She wants to remind me that she is in charge. So, I eat… I sleep… I go to work. I repeat and I pretend that it was a fluke.

I am better now. Right?

It won’t happen again. Right?

I am okay. Right?

Right?

…

Then I feel that gentle yet authoritative tug on my neck…

That heat spreads through my body…

That burning behind my eyes…

She is here, again…

… something isn’t right.