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I lay awake, following the whirlpool of thoughts deeper into my self-consciousness. At first, it was trepidation about the anxiousness exploding into a panic attack. I existed on this brink that represented this horrible danger. Beyond it, I didn’t know what else there was. Madness, maybe. Or that’s what I thought when I was younger and naïve. Then it was worrying about possible health issues. Like that small lump that appeared on my hip following a game of tennis when I was just sixteen. Cancer, maybe? That was a weekend of worry, until my GP told me it was some fatty deposit. There were other things that cropped up. Like,…
The Other Me
‘The Fugue’ v. Arguably the worst side-effect of Aropax was that it dimmed my imagination – maybe not an issue to many, but for me it was about the worst thing that could happen. Prior to Aropax, I could sit down and write anything any time. I’d written previously through anxiety and depression. Now, I struggled. The thoughts flowed sluggishly. Once I got going, I was okay (but never as fluent as I once was), but it was like whatever doorway into my mind gave me access to my writing had mostly closed. Years later, I read about ruminations, which is to reflect or brood negatively and to rehash a…