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Every four years, on the Tuesday after the first Monday of November, I disappear for a little while. There’s a room, cozy and warm and totally isolated from the rest of the world, where I sit and I let the battle within my soul play out. It’s always a horrible, amazing, terrifying, exciting day. When the millions of voices I have twirling around in my head start to get loud, and I feel I have thousands of personalities within my mind. I feel torn in hundreds of directions, so all I can do is sit in this room and count and count and recount the tiles of the ceiling, the fringes on the rug, the nameless books on the shelves, anything to get me through this day. I like it. I’ve always felt good. I don’t feel good now, though. Not on November 8, 2016.
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Every four years, on the Tuesday after the first Monday of November, I disappear for a little while. There’s a room, cozy and warm and totally isolated from the rest of the world, where I sit and I let the battle within my soul play out. It’s always a horrible, amazing, terrifying, exciting day. When the millions of voices I have twirling around in my head start to get loud, and I feel I have thousands of personalities within my mind. I feel torn in hundreds of directions, so all I can do is sit in this room and count and count and recount the tiles of the ceiling, the fringes on the rug, the nameless books on the shelves, anything to get me through this day. I like it. I’ve always felt good. I don’t feel good now, though. Not on November 8, 2016.
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An inspiration for a story