Myself. My divine stressed out body and mind. What are you going to do about it? I guess I'll work it out and forget it even happened until it comes back again. How much time will I waste on thoughts that don't matter. I still can't even truly believe that these thoughts don't matter. Trust your instincts, oh wait, don't! Know one knows the freaking answers, doctor's don't, family doesn't, friends don't either. Who could possibly know anything about myself?? Oh right, me.
Must I give way to lunacy? Subject myself to the dark pits of not caring whether my brain is actively bleeding into my sinuses, or do I realize that these feelings are created by thoughts alone. How powerful is the mind? Could I make my own heart stop beating just by the thought of it happening, or should I say "not" happening. I'll only know when my muscles give out and I have no more feeling or control that I'm really dying despite having thought I've been dying a hundred times already.
What is at the root of it? Is it my concussion, is it Lyme's disease, is it COVID-19, is the architecture of my brain? What would that architecture even look like? It would be a bunch of pillars and buttresses overlapping and colliding at random junctions, but selected areas where intricate and delicately placed rooms ornately drawn with chandeliers and marble floor would preside. Is the goal to stay in those rooms that make me feel sane, or is it my role to tour the property and restructure all the nonsense to remodel the building to be more coherent; perhaps that is what I am doing when I write.