narcissism

Beginning to Believe

Beginning to Believe

There’s a racquetball lodged firmly in my throat. My eyelids are burning, and the back of my head feels cold and heavy, like an icy hand is pushing my gaze toward the ground. A plastic device shaped a bit like a bean and roughly the size of a car-key remote is buzzing intermittently in my left hand; I’m holding its vibrating twin in my right. The muscles along the backside of my left leg are in full-blown spasm—I have never experienced anything like this before. I open my eyes and express my concern about these twitchy muscles to a slight brunette sitting a couple feet away. The beans stop jumping for a while, and she explains what’s happening.

Beginning to Believe

Beginning to Believe

There’s a racquetball lodged firmly in my throat. My eyelids are burning, and the back of my head feels cold and heavy, like an icy hand is pushing my gaze toward the ground. A plastic device shaped a bit like a bean and roughly the size of a car-key remote is buzzing intermittently in my left hand; I’m holding its vibrating twin in my right. The muscles along the backside of my left leg are in full-blown spasm—I have never experienced anything like this before. I open my eyes and express my concern about these twitchy muscles to a slight brunette sitting a couple feet away. The beans stop jumping for a while, and she explains what’s happening.