Buzzing
1
Everything is loud sound clink voiceswhoosh whoosh car horn SHUT UP SHUT UP EVERYTHING SHUT UP. It’s as if there is an abundance of bees buzzing from bone to bone in my skull, disrupting sleep and taking my manic thoughts in their wake so much to do so much worry what is that its irrelevant the feel of cotton on skin the pain in my chest... My chest—it’s tight. In witch trials in the 1600s, they would pile rocks on top of the perceived witch. I imagine I know what that feels like now. The noise, though…the noise inside my head is deafening. It is magnified and reverberated from brain to heart. I want to cry or sleep or both or please someone help me please i can’t think oh god I want to be alone. I want to be alone in a pitch black, sound proof room; I want my brain to just stop working. I want the noise to stop. The buzzing. It never ends oh god someone please save me from this please save me oh please…
Somebody is screaming. I have no desire to help them. I just want everything to stop. The screaming continues. I can feel the screaming through the entirety of my body. How can one feel another’s scream? There it is, if that’s possible, the feeling of a scream. My fingers tingle with it. My toes curl in agony at the sound. My brain, it’s splitting. The muscles in my neck are straining and pulling. The throat is raw. The person won’t stop screaming. I try to tell them to stop oh please stop screaming you’re killing me but they don’t. No matter the pain I feel in my chest, my stomach, my head oh my head it’s ripping apart I can feel my brain the screaming continues.
I fall from the couch and try to breathe but I can’t with the screaming. Who is screaming? And why does it hurt?!
Crawling on my hands and knees like an infant I seek shelter shelter form the screaming from the crying what is that water on my face? in the darkest place I know. I cover my ears with something. Something soft and warm. Something that smells familiar. Faintly calming.
The screaming, it calms to faint whimpers.
It’s then that I hear talking.
Light floods my space. My safe place. I cover my eyes with the softness. The familiar. Don’t want to see don’t want to hear just want to feel and smell
But I hear. I hear the voice that is so familiar.
“Sherlock. Sherlock, shh…”
JOHN. OH GOD JOHN SAVE ME. JOHN, MY GOOD DOCTOR SAVE ME FROM MYSELF.
His hand is soft on my shoulder. His body scent mixes with the scent of when I slowly realize is his jumper. His reliable jumper, always at the ready. It suits him.
“Come on, come out of the cupboard, Sherlock.”
I listen. My concentration leaves the sound of the bees, the sound of my thoughts, the feeling of the rocks, and zones in on that voice. The voice of reason and stability.
“John…” I hear myself whimper.
Suddenly I feel a blanket draped around my shoulders, the softness of a sofa under me, and a mug of tea enters my vision, held by a calloused, steady hand that is attached to a body holding a face with blue eyes. Worried, tense blue eyes.
At last, I do nothing but breathe.
Somebody is screaming. I have no desire to help them. I just want everything to stop. The screaming continues. I can feel the screaming through the entirety of my body. How can one feel another’s scream? There it is, if that’s possible, the feeling of a scream. My fingers tingle with it. My toes curl in agony at the sound. My brain, it’s splitting. The muscles in my neck are straining and pulling. The throat is raw. The person won’t stop screaming. I try to tell them to stop oh please stop screaming you’re killing me but they don’t. No matter the pain I feel in my chest, my stomach, my head oh my head it’s ripping apart I can feel my brain the screaming continues.
I fall from the couch and try to breathe but I can’t with the screaming. Who is screaming? And why does it hurt?!
Crawling on my hands and knees like an infant I seek shelter shelter form the screaming from the crying what is that water on my face? in the darkest place I know. I cover my ears with something. Something soft and warm. Something that smells familiar. Faintly calming.
The screaming, it calms to faint whimpers.
It’s then that I hear talking.
Light floods my space. My safe place. I cover my eyes with the softness. The familiar. Don’t want to see don’t want to hear just want to feel and smell
But I hear. I hear the voice that is so familiar.
“Sherlock. Sherlock, shh…”
JOHN. OH GOD JOHN SAVE ME. JOHN, MY GOOD DOCTOR SAVE ME FROM MYSELF.
His hand is soft on my shoulder. His body scent mixes with the scent of when I slowly realize is his jumper. His reliable jumper, always at the ready. It suits him.
“Come on, come out of the cupboard, Sherlock.”
I listen. My concentration leaves the sound of the bees, the sound of my thoughts, the feeling of the rocks, and zones in on that voice. The voice of reason and stability.
“John…” I hear myself whimper.
Suddenly I feel a blanket draped around my shoulders, the softness of a sofa under me, and a mug of tea enters my vision, held by a calloused, steady hand that is attached to a body holding a face with blue eyes. Worried, tense blue eyes.
At last, I do nothing but breathe.