Negative gravity

My phone is charging, and it seems the notifications have returned.

A rhythmic ringtone jingles.

And here is 'Colossal.'

Already woken by the intoxicating yet unwelcome pull of every muscle group into an abyss below. 

I try and find relief by massaging my shoulders. 

Deep. 

To release the strength of the drag.

Remembering.

This is not a hallucination but an anticholinergic response to Cogentin. 

Taken progressively on Saturday.

An attempted relief from Akathisia.

Bugs crawling under my skin.

Unabated. 

All subcutaneous fibres vibrating through the contracting and limited release of intense twitching.

Negative gravity, now it too returns. 

 A <red alert> text to my Psychiatrist not required. 

I know what this is. 

Frightened?

 No.

'Colossal' tells me so. 

I see visual animated gif representations of this sensory vortex.

I reinstate my grounding techniques.

A combatant to the fear.

I am thankful for the insight. 

An admission to Toowong Private Hospital needed?

No.

A destimulated self-imposed lockdown. 

Negotiated.

Self-controlled. 

First step: check medication compliance. Yes, taken. 

I reach for the antidote, secure in the knowledge that I can ride out the next 20 minutes.

A pharmacological intervention supplemented by the animated minimalism I explore. 

 How does this feel?

 An excerpt from the artist statement captures it:

Every cell constituting them has its own simple periodic motion, meaning regularly looping by spinning or twisting or stretching or balancing or revolving or swinging or shaking or beating or vibrating, in a word: oscillating.

Frédéric Vayssouze-Faure

 *

Postscript at 30 minutes:

Negative gravity.

Do I know where I am?

Yes.

I have emerged from the hot steam.

The sand washed away. 

*

Pauline Fountain. © 2024. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced without the written permission of the author.