I’m about to go in for an MRI. My doctor wants to check for brain tumors. To rule them out.
I don’t have much going for me. My face is meh. I recently gained a bunch of weight because I just stopped trying after I broke up with my ex. I haven’t wanted to.
What I do have going for me is my brain. I’ve got stories in there. Lots of potential ideas. Maybe, when I’m done feeling sorry for myself, I’ll do something important with those things.
But what if I have something else in there? Something that could put those things to a permanent halt? What else would a writer want, other than making some mark on the literary world? I can’t possibly do that if there’s something taking over my brain.
God, that sounds ludicrous, doesn’t it? Like, how can your body be fine one day and then the next be completely transformed?
It’s kind of terrifying, honestly. What if I do have a brain tumor? Can it be taken out? Will it kill me? And of course that opens an entirely different can of worms. Is there something after death? Are our bodies just fleshy vessels we steer around on a floating rock in space? It’s scary.
I hate when I get this way. Panic attacks suck. And I can feel one just a brewing up inside of me, an evil chuckle from the thunderous waves of anxiousness just laughing away at my worries and shit.
Ugh, I just need to breathe, right? I just need to take a step back and use my lungs.
I wish my ex were here. He’d know how to distract me from my thoughts.