Takeover

It’s awhirl inside my head. The hormones are buzzing and I can almost feel it. Like my poky finger reaches inside the fuzz of soft cotton that my body has degenerated into, to feel the buzz, the movement and the violence inside.

As for my head, it has gone into standby mode. Sulking over the activity that the rest of the body has gone into overdrive over, the head says, “This is it! I hang.” And it does it with a vengeance.

The head pounds, the heart is pumping away, sending more than its share into the top storey. There is nothing I can do, but hold the head, moan a bit and then, resignedly sink back into the chair, wishing it were a soft mattress with a pillow and a comforter. But wishes are not horses and I have not yet learned to ride.

Meanwhile, the body is enjoying the trip – gleefully weaving its superiority over all things cerebral. There are parts of it that painfully throb; others seem woefully inadequate to bear the insidious trauma. The body is laughing all the way, like it’s got a free trip to the amusement park.

“I feel sick,” I tell the family. Members look up consideringly. I must be looking okay for they tell me in various ways, to chill and relax. “I don’t feel good,” I reiterate. I know now that the brain has absolutely no powers since somewhere, the nerves have gotten tangled and there are absolutely no verbal cues. The same words resound round and round and suddenly, I crave for oblivion. A drink. A sleeping pill. Anything that will stop this takeover.