What happens when the insomnia and the anxiety and the stress and the depression all kick in is that suddenly, your whole body feels too big for itself, except all of your organs are all crammed in together real tight, and all of your muscles are twisted into little French braids, delicate and thin and red with bits of blue and white in between where the bone and the veins show through and your heart beats too fast and you can feel it thump-thump-thumping right in your ears and at the roof of your mouth and the palms of your hands, in the tips of your fingers and your toes and pounding at the fat on the insides of your thighs. And while your organs are packed in tight with the little vines of muscle snaring them, there's too much empty space left where the organs should be and your stomach fills it, feeling full and bubbling with the empty, burning sensation that crawls up the back of your throat. Like all of the acid decided to make a break, hunting for an exit from the desolate, dilapidated organ that's shrivled and wrinkled like an old paper bag all tied up in the string that are your muscles.
What happens when the insomnia and the anxiety and the stress and the depression all kick in is your mind goes into overdrive and everything happens too slow but too fast for you to really concentrate, so you find yourself focusing on things without really focusing, your eyes glued to something while your mind goes far away to process all the information while the noise shifts to the back of your mind, behind the thudding in your ears and the acid in your stomach and the aching, dull feeling in your sunken eyes and the caked-on makeup that feels too heavy but society doesn't want to see your face, not really, not if it's imperfect with little scars and angry, red spots and the purple under your eyes and everything just sounds like it's gone underwater and you're swimming in your mind until you realize what your eyes have fixated on is a person and that person is uncomfortable and awkward under your stare because no matter what you do, how much makeup you put on, the distance in your body will show through in the eyes. It makes people uncomfortable to see someone separated from society, even for a moment.
And what happens when the insomnia and the anxiety and the stress and the depression kick in is that your mind and body distance you from society and you feel empty and lonely and broken, like a little wind up toy that was dropped and no longer turns and sings the way it should, like a car with old, broken parts from other cars that nobody wanted that goes around and around but something is always not quite right in it like the heating is broke or the radio sticks or the seat just feels wrong, like nobody should be there, like this car should just be tossed away where nobody should have to see it or deal with it or have anything to do with it because who really wants something broken anyways, even if it get fixed up every morning with it's paint caked-on and it's fenders all shined up.
What happens is at first your feel numb besides the aching and straining of your muscles. Mentally numb, everything is on repeat. Get up, get dressed, get to class, go back to the dorm, go back to class, go back to the dorm, go to dinner, go to bed. Repeat. You're the broken doll turning yourself around, the same note over and over again. And then the note cracks, the doll falters, skips a beat, and your mind cracks open just a sliver, just enough to let the loneliness seep slowly in. Just enough to enlighten you to the situation. And because of the insomnia, it stays all day and all night and fills your skull to the brim and it's all you think about while the stranger in the room beside you twists and turns and sighs and the girl in the hallways sobs and vomits in the bathroom and you wonder what went wrong and suddenly the doll won't turn anymore. You sleep through class. You don't have the effort to eat, the acid churns in your stomach. You start to forget, to lose things. it takes you longer to recognize voices, faces, your own name. People call you time and time again before you notice it's you they're looking at. You feel them looking through you, not at you. You're not there. You're on a different level, distant, alone.
The essay sits undone. You fail one class, two classes, three. Your life feels like it's spiraling. Nothing goes right. Paper cuts on your hands, glass in your fingers, a burn on your face. The acid churns. Your eyes feel so deep in your skull, if you could turn them around you'd see your brain floating in the sea on loneliness, the crack letting light shine in and illuminating the grey tissue. You crack again and it feels like you can never stop crying. Crying makes you so tired. Another crack, it's pouring in like water in the bathtub, not a trickle but the full force. You can't cry anymore, not even if you wanted. It's pouring over the edges now, soaking into every pour, dripping down your face in a sloppy, black mess, coating your skin like filthy and grimy and dust and it's as thick as fat and black as tar and no matter how hard you scrub it's still there, in your hair, your eyes, your blood. You're filthy, human waste, nothing. You don't belong here, but you;re not there anymore. You're gone.
What happens when the little train that is your life falls off the tracks is that the wheels keep turning, but you're going nowhere, just laying on your side, steam pouring out and whistle filling with dirt. Everything rushes by you, moving on with life as you keep going ever onward into nowhere, into nothing, slowly deteriorating. You keep trying. You don't want to let the world take you, to let the mud pull you down into the sinking, stinking pit your life has become. You pull against it. Your wheels keep turning, the gears straining. Everyone else tugs along, following their little paths behind one another. Different tracks, different beliefs, everyone following one another like little lemmings. You want to be them, clean and bright with ideas funneled into you like coal to be burned, to be used to go on. You long sense burnt that up. You don't know who you are, what you believe, where you're going. You're everything and nothing and it's cold and empty and you're tired and the wheels turn slower and slower and you haven't moved an inch and you just want to give up.
That's what happens.
So, what do you do next?
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