Panic! at the desko

I hear the din growing louder and louder, like the sound airplanes make as they take off except I’m not surrounded by passengers; I am alone, sinking into my chair, the sudden weightlessness of my body pulling me further down and immobilizing me into a catatonic state.

The person sitting directly in front of me keeps asking if I am ok. I can’t hear her. I can’t hear anything but the violent ringing noise, which also reminds me of a vacuum cleaner, not only in the intensity of the sound, but also in how swiftly it sucks every ounce of my energy in a matter of seconds.

But brief as it may be on a clock, in my mind it feels eternal, and not knowing when it will end, a hopelessness envelops me. I am afraid.

I know what is happening to me. It’s not the first time and it certainly won’t be the last.

The ceiling, the desk, the office, it all blends into a swirling, pixelated piece of French Impressionism. I have an entire collection worthy of an exhibition by now.

And then, the calm.

The din’s aggression subsides and I perceive a sound, a different one. The person is asking if I am ok.

Am I ok? I don’t know. But I can hear the voices inside my head again.

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