The lights won’t stop buzzing. They’re louder than my thoughts. My eyes sting when I blink too fast, the blur stays anyway. The walls hum against my skin, a low vibration in my teeth. I grind my jaw until it clicks, but the sound doesn’t leave. I press my hands over my ears, palms sweating, nails digging in. The ringing sharpens. Even silence has teeth. This morning isn’t quiet, it presses against my skin like static turned all the way up, every light too sharp, every sound too jagged, my chest buzzing as if there’s a storm trapped inside it. I can feel my nerves twitching out of sync, my heart pounding in my throat like it doesn’t belong there, and all I can think to whisper, again and again, is turn the volume down. My hands shake when I reach for the switch. The screen flickers anyway. Shadows vibrate at the edges, buzzing like angry flies. My stomach knots, caffeine still burning holes. I feel like an antenna tuned to nothing but static. I swallow hard, but the hum sticks like glass. Each breath comes shallow, crackling in my chest. Even my footsteps sound broken. This morning isn’t quiet, it presses against my skin like static turned all the way up, every light too sharp, every sound too jagged, my chest buzzing as if there’s a storm trapped inside it. I can feel my nerves twitching out of sync, my heart pounding in my throat like it doesn’t belong there, and all I can think to whisper, again and again, is turn the volume down. I close my eyes. The dark doesn’t help. The glow leaks through my lids, red and violent. I can hear the colors burn, and my skin buzzes like a wire about to snap. This morning isn’t quiet, it presses against my skin like static turned all the way up, every light too sharp, every sound too jagged, my chest buzzing as if there’s a storm trapped inside it. I can feel my nerves twitching out of sync, my heart pounding in my throat like it doesn’t belong there, and all I can think to whisper, again and again, is turn the volume down, turn the volume down, before I break.
