Emancipation?

Has anyone ever felt this?

When something significant happens to you, good or bad, and you just… you just change, completely, from inside out, slowly, but it’s there, the constant need to move, to feel?

The crawling of your skin; like a million ants, or caterpillars, maybe; are on you?

The itch in your fingers to peel your skin off, feel the flesh slip away, reveal another being, another person who is not you – or maybe a new version of you – below the layers of cells and blood?

The ever-present restlessness in the back of your mind that turns into a frenzy, a mania that demands that you do something reckless before your body does it for you. It’s unsettling, yet strangely calming. Knowing that your body can feel, that the numbness you felt during the ordeal wasn’t permanent. And yet it stays, urges until you scratch your nails against your skin in a desperate attempt to satisfy the dark tendrils seemingly tangling themselves around your chest, tightening, constricting, until –

It stops. Like a bucket of ice thrown on you in the dead of winter – it’s refreshing and blood-curdling, heart-stopping and adrenaline-pumping at the same time. Like a lifeboat thrown to you while you’re lost at sea, with a tag attached stating that you’re now a slave to your rescuers. That your life is now owed to something much greater than you, a force that transcends any kind of preparation you could have done.

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Published by

quirkyteal

writer/stylist/dreamer sophomore | lasalle college of the arts

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