The mind goes into overdrive again. Moths. Bees. Ants. That’s how thoughts pour into my skull when I close my eyes.

Seemingly small and manageable, but deadly when in numbers. Some days I will exhaust my body on purpose, hoping that it will be enough to switch off my brain as soon as I lay in bed. Tonight I failed. 

Money is usually the first one to waltz in. I’ll go through a round of fast math – adding, subtracting and dividing sums that never exceed three digits. I’ll go through the same pattern a couple of times hoping to get a bigger number every time. I’ll set monthly goals of financial austerity that will be broken by my desperate attempt to feel alive. A pair of shoes, a dinner with friends downtown and a few drinks here and there will offset my low-budget diet of noodles and cereal, keeping my net worth at a constant for a fourth month running. 

In the midst of numbers and calculations, a face shows up. I’ve reached a point where I don’t think about it during the day by occupying myself with meaningless actions and human interactions. But then the night comes and there are no more distractions.

The face I so hopelessly try to zone out, skydives in my cerebrum without asking for permission.

It’s like salt in a salad – you can’t see it but it’s the taste that overpowers your palette. There is no consistency about these thoughts. The face just colonizes my consciousness, making my frame play twister underneath the sheets. My stomach joins in, replicating that very particular type of sickness I felt on the day we broke up. Without realizing, my body has reached its daily peak both in motion and emotions, which is kind of weird considering I’m making a conscious effort to sleep. 

Like babushka dolls, the thoughts keep on showing up. I shove the face in a corner at the back and intentionally try to think of my trip in two weeks time. That should be fun. Can’t wait for the beach and the sun and to not have to worry about work. The hotel was a little bit expensive but fuck it, I deserve it. I’ll probably cut back on the alcohol.  

And just like that, money has circled back around. Forget the trip. 

Mum and dad are coming out this weekend. It’s the first time since I moved to the new apartment. They think I’m doing well. I lead them to believe I’m doing well. I need them to believe I’m doing well. The conversation will go back and forth between them trying to avoid any health issues, gossip about people I last saw when I was 15, and dad jokes I secretly enjoy. I’ll tell them I’m up for a promotion. That always cheers them up.   

It’s morning. I roll on my right shoulder. My mind’s empty.