In his head he felt the pressure of too
many signals at once. In his dreams he heard the voices, people he
didn't know coming into his house and talking, bombarding his brain
with ideas, noises, visual stimuli. He was in the shower in his
dream, they came into the house. He was at his desk and he dropped
his drink. He was in the truck at the end of the road and another
vehicle sped towards him.
He wouldn't call it precognition. It
didn't feel like that at all. It felt more like something was trying
to pulse his brain into taking outside input. He didn't know the
source, and it wasn't precise enough to trigger anything specific, so
it simply felt like a wall of noise.
Today the pain was especially bad. If
it was a worthwhile experiment, it wouldn't be enough to want it
stopped, but it wasn't exactly pleasant either. More of a headache
from being overloaded with information that doesn't seem to have a
place or relevance. It seemed to focus his mind, but only in as much
as it blocked out everything else.
It kept him from planning, from
concentrating, from enjoying, from reflecting, from feeling that
anything was 'new'. Not that it mattered, there was nothing
significant on his plate and it didn't feel like there would be for a
very long time.
He wondered if it was his own brain
generating noise to amuse itself. If it was, it was the most
horrible job of doing so that he could imagine. It seemed like a
cloud of misfires, all fighting each other for prominence – even
though none of them had anything to 'say'.
Some dutiful, overseeing part of his
psyche told him to 'keep it together' for the millionth time. He was
tired of pretending he was healthy. His body had all but abandoned
him, and his mind was throwing itself against the walls to distract
itself from the horrible truth of his condition(s).
Days and experiences coursed through
his head like a bitter poison. The barbed wire of past habits
scraped against whatever soft feelings he had left. If this was
coping, he hate to think what the alternative would be.
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