"No one talks about the cicadas. Their constant high pitched droning is so integrated into their brain that it raises no questions or internal alarms. Its crazy! And im the one freaking out feeling crazy for paying attention to them? (interobang) I was so afraid to ask about them growing up because I thought it would just prove my insanity. The disintegration of my mental foundation before it ever got the chance to fully develop."

Inhale.
Exhale.

"THE TREES ARE SCREAMING AND NO ONE IS REACTING!" He takes moment, realizing his anger flaring up. "The trees are screaming and Im terrified to say anything. I'll just live my little naive childish life for the short stint it has until this metaphorical tumor has applied enough pressure on my brain - which in my mind was the reason for the constant ringing - causing me to seize up and die. The ringing is too much."

He threw himself back into the papasan, pitching it back a hair short of collapsing to the ground. He flailed to catch his balance.

"You call it tinnitus, but Im not convinced. It controls me. It influences me. Sometimes it'll hit so hard, it'll knock me off balance. Its like being shot in the head with a pressurized bass. Almost like for a second, I'm hitting metaphorical, ephemeral waters and then my insides are rushing with the current. The water and pressure rushing your ears. I can breathe, but I feel like im drowing." He looked down at his now crossed legs resting in the half dome of the chair, then throws his face into his hands, as if about to burst into tears.

"I've started trying something new. I remember reading somewhere, someone would meditate on the constant ringing they hear. Like its a message from the heavens. A message from higher up trying to communicate. Maybe its just the universal frequency? The akashik records? When I listen long enough, the high pitched string splinters into a smaller chorus, with individual notes and if I focus long enough, its like I can reach out and pluck it, like that of a harp. Are these the strings guiding me?"

"Do we really have any control? These noises control me. They drive me to a madness I never knew possible. I dont understand. I dont understand and I NEED" - he forces his fists to his temples - "to understand..."

Inhale
Exhale

"And then there's the nightmares. They dont stop. Why do they repeat? These scenes plague my unconscious and subconscious mind and I dont know what to do. Its like all my fears are accumulating and lashing out. I have these nightmares but I can't seem to describe them. Its like if I try to talk about them, it only makes them more real. Im running from someone." His sentences scattered as he tries to piece it all together.

"Im scared, and Im always running from someone or something. Dark stairwells that I am throwing myself down to gain any additional advancement from my pursuer. Stuck in the psych ward, with my limbs frozen and dragging like stone. I wake up every morning terrified and exhausted from the dreams of the night before. Its a never ending cycle." His eyes begin to well up as a small glint glistens and tessellates in the light. He holds his phone back up resting it on his table as he slumps back down into his wickered half dome of a chair.

"Are you breathing Theon? That was a lot to unpack right there." His therapist attempts to feign comfort. "First I must ask, are you continuing your medications?"

"Yes..." Clearly annoyed by the question.

"have you had any thoughts of harming yourself or others?" His therapist begins to roll through some of the basic questions.

"I mean, I guess. I have a lot of thoughts coming in and out. Sometimes its a shit thought like wanting to hurt someone, like punching some jack ass in the face. I imagine death a lot. Its everywhere and people want to act as numb as possible to it. We hold too much value on this physical existence." He paused. A moment passes as he replays what he had just said over in his head.

"Ok, do you have thoughts or plans on following through with anything that would potentially negatively impact your 'physical existence', so to speak?" The therapist continued with his probing questions.

"Thats all relative to whom you might ask and what their beliefs are." His eyes went dead for a moment. Sanpaku.

"Theon, as true as that may be, we value the individual lives in our community and society. We hold the capacity and ability to recognize pain in others - empathy - and have a desire to help those individuals that are hurting. Whether it be that we are projecting our own insecurities, wants, desires, and even pride, we tend to at least try to help. Whats good for one is not always whats good for another and even though we try, we still tend to cause pain. Unintentional pain, but pain knows no boundaries."
"Pain is pain. and if im causing you pain, then please tell me. What ever is causing you that pain, we are here to find that out together. Identify and recognize the pain, with intention on healing it. Breathing into the pain, bringing in our life force, and that of the universe around us, and releasing that pain on every exhale."

Theon sits back up. Something sparked inside of him, igniting yet another licking flame heating his kettled heart. His therapist takes note as he is typing away his notes, evaluating Theon. His deeper sides were able to spread in the still of isolation. Waves slowly rippling outward, exploring the breadth of their reach. Pulling the grains of sand, and spreading, pulsing, eroding the gates that keep him locked inside.

Then grabbing his phone, he pulled the video call closer to his face, serious and pondering.
"How do I articulate this?" pausing to close his eyes and breathe deeply. A few breaths filled with a thousand choirs of thought.
"When I hear something like this, it feels like manipulation. You're playing on my empathy and trying to persuade me into thinking or feeling differently than I do, because the way I think does not align with your values or teachings so you "morally" feel "obligated" to "help" me." He expresses with his redundant one handed finger quotes.
"It feels selfish. You wont feel better until you help me. It feels egotistical. Like your moral obligation to help me is, at the root of it, selfish in your nature. You want to feel better about yourself and your external existence so you want to help fix others and their problems. Let alone probably avoiding certain aspects of your own life all in the vain of pompous self gratitude." He realized he had inadvertently offended his therapist in that moment. "... No offense"

Taken quite aback, the therapist takes a moment to compose his thoughts. Something he said had triggered Theon and he was curious to dig a little deeper. He wasn't offended but stirred with even more curiosity. He continued to type into his notes as hey stroked each key with conviction and fascination. Theon could hear the clattering, possibly irked by the idea of these notes being shared amongst his therapists colleagues for training and educational purposes.

His therapist sighs. "Why do you inherently associate selfishness with negativity? Of course we are selfish. We can only experience our existence through this physical body and all its multi-faceted appendages. If we truly didnt want to be selfish, then we would just go on autopilot and join the barracks. We would be living in a zoo being controled by others. To me, what sounds more selfish is going into that autopilot mode, giving up all your whims and wills, allowing someone else complete and utter control over you. When the very least, you could be selfish enough to help someone else out and reap the benefits of positive contribution to our society."
"So of course we are selfish. We are only 'ourself' and there isnt anything we can do about that. Hold onto the idea the selfishness is not inherently negative. Its what we do with this selfishness that retroactively begins to define it. Its ok to be selfish, and with *my* selfishness, I want to help you feel better with the knowledge, training, and thousands of hours of education I have at my disposal. I believe this would be a better world if we all helped each other out."

"But-" cut short, distracted by the warning on his phone notifying him he's less than ten percent battery left. "fuck."

"Butt-fuck?" His therapists reiterates, confused. "You may disagree with me but we will maintain respect and refrain from name calling in this space."

"No-I didn't mean to-I wasn't calling-ugh-fuck-my phones dying!" his mouth tripping over each word as it couldnt keep up with the velocity of his thoughts. "

"Times wrapping up for our session regardless. We've got our next appointment set four days from now. Now, I want you to keep writing in your dream journal. I know it can be painful to immediately relive your nightmares the moment you wake up, but it is important that you do this so I have a better idea of what I am working with and in turn how I can help you and your recovery." The therapist persists.

"Yeah, yeah... I will." Said with an audible sigh. He hates this part. His journal is like a grimoire. a book full of short horror stories. An autobiography of his nightmare infestations. It wasn't a happy read. With keeping his nightmare journal, he was starting to notice a few reoccuring themes. "At least I'm running away from something lately... but what ever it is, its always a few steps behind... but yeah, I'll keep up wit the journaling."

They expel departing pleasantries.
*I want to help you feel better... thousands of hours of education at my dispoal.* He mocks his therapist as he ended the call.
From his chair he stands in front of a window in his bed room to stretch out in the setting sun. The even glow was taking hold, illuminating the facade of the small city, back lit like an exquisite sculpture. The warm suns crepuscular rays rest on his face as he stretchs his arms above his head, taking in a big, audible yawn. He stands there absorbing and digesting the session he just had, holding his arms erect above his head as he do so. forlorn, he leans his figure on the window frame staring into the beautiful sunset.
Its gradient hues always looked spectacular to him. Sometimes like a slowly rippling water color painting, other times nothing but the fading light over the horizon that brings upon the lurking midnight curtains. Studded with stars like little pinholes shining out a lampshade. What he wouldn't give to touch a star.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Its exhausting having to... *feel*

A deep bass like sensation abruptly permeates his head, whooshing through his brain like a phantom through walls. A force that can nearly knock him over. The *ringing* immediately follows. It starts slow and low. Quickly raising in pitch, it overloads Theon with sensation. Another whoosh through his head. The ringing gets louder. It splinters into a chord. The chords begin to thrum. The thrumming reminiscent of an orbiting, or rotating force. Slow and steady giving a brief pause between each *thrum*.

He body goes limp, like snipping a marionettes strings. His eyes roll back as he goes down. Hard. Arms flailing. Smacking his phone and head on the hard wood flooring, the phone skid several feet across.