I cover my ears with my hands and I can hear inside my head. It’s like being underwater but there’s a throbbing in there. I close my eyes. I can hear the music from downstairs but it’s muffled. The lyrics are indecipherable but the bass makes it through in tact. I can feel it run through every fibre of my being. I came upstairs to get away from it all but even that escape wasn’t enough. I wanted to escape it all. This concept seemed to instead escape me, leave me here alone whilst I wished for away. So all I could do was cover my ears and go inside myself. I probably shouldn’t have taken what she offered. No, definitely not taken it. But it’s too late for regrets now. Way too late. I think I hear banging on the bathroom door. Either someone needs to use it or they’re worried about me. Either way I don’t care. They’re not freaking out right now. Unless they are. Unless they took it too. Whatever.
This is me time. Me inside me time. And I’m here to stay. For now, at least, I’m here to stay. I’ll ignore the bangs and try to ignore the part of my brain that is totally shitting itself and ignore whatever wants to haunt me whilst I’m going through all this and instead listen to my head, the thrum of my consciousness, like waves on a beach. My head is the conch shell I picked up when I was seven and listened to the fake ocean inside whilst my spare ear heard the real ocean. Later, at home, I wasn’t sure whether I could hear the ocean in that conch shell or just my memory filling the void.
For the first time in my life I am listening to me. I am the little hermit crab inside the shell of my existence.