1. It feels as if you’ve fallen into a cactus, and your heart has been punctured a million times over by tiny pins. It stings at first, but now it feels as if they’ve left you numb—not even slightly painful, just numb. You are not bleeding, but you know after you slowly start to pull these foreign objects out, one by one, the blood will come gushing out.
2. It starts at the bottom of your stomach, and slowly grows with every passing day. You don’t notice it at first—you think you’re fine. But you are watering this weed every day, so it just grows stronger. It strangles your organs—you’ll notice it when you lose your appetite. From then on it slowly grows taller, and when you notice that you can’t breathe, it’s too late—way too late—it will have started working on your heart and it will continue growing until it extends out, past your lips.
3. It is some kind of vaccination. Inherently—maybe not inherently, and maybe not everybody, but most people, perhaps I can safely say, are afraid of vaccinations. You would think the shot hurts the most, but it really is the anticipation and the aftermath that is disastrous. The suspension probably kills you—they can wipe down your arm with disinfectant, but what good will it do? The shock of the needle coming through will not fail to surprise you. There’s something really terrifying about the needle being stuck inside your body. She pushes and the fluid enters.
But the blunt force of the liquid is not the worst part—it is afterwards, when your arm aches every time you attempt to raise it, reminding you of the trauma. There is no stinging pain, but the ever-present soreness will not allow you to do anything. Not even sleep.
4. Is it even an accident anymore? You are watching your finger, the moisture slipping off the tip, as it strives to reach closer towards the outlet. It’s not an accident anymore—you want to see what happens. You imagine the pad of your finger touching the curved surface, and an imaginary shock travels through your body. The sharpness of the pain is unmistakable and distinctive—it sends shockwaves through your bloodstream and you crumple to the floor.
But none of that happens.
Your finger touches the outlet, and that’s the only thing it does—it touches. It wasn’t so bad after all.
5. It kind of leaves you breathless, like when you’re running on a treadmill, or rowing away as if some ghost from the past is chasing you. There is burning in your lungs as you desperately try to draw in enough air to sustain functionality. You are tired—your muscles are giving out and you just can’t anymore. But you have to, and you do, and it just takes five more minutes to realise this:
There is a certain kind of exultation in this. It feels so good, and you start to smile.