The Symptoms

Modern-day medicines claim to heal almost anything with special treatments and a prescription with risks worse sounding than the illness itself. I would choose suffering over deciding to repress my cough with over-the-counter syrups, but this was unlike any ordinary cold I have had before. I will admit I had trust issues with medications that included a booger speaking directly to me from a colored TV screen. Not a second goes by that I am not reminded that I haven't felt like my usual self, how am I supposed to know exactly what to do when I do not have a list of symptoms for what I am feeling? When did this even begin, was I exposed to someone already infected? How long will this last? The question spun in my head as I lay on the floor of my bedroom; suddenly, I fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up with the sun and a few clouds, plus a brisk breeze that would have the dead shaking in their decaying flesh. I had a feeling it would be freezing out since my windows were covered in frost and my walls were ice cold. I ripped my sheets off the mattress and threw them into the wash along with my pillow. I started the wash, cold water for the planet, at least that's what that commercial implied, to sell more forbidden snacks. I thought of how disgusting it would be to eat this tiny pod of soapy poison. The packaging would dissolve as soon as it hit anything moist. I tossed the tiny package of pretty suds into the wash as the water ran, closed the lid, and left the washroom.

I wiped the mirror so that I could peer into my eyes, but again to not that I was surprised I did not recognize this woman in the mirror, dark hair, eyes to match, dark feelings to pull the look together. No thoughts, just expressionless, a blank canvas, and being the starving artist I so desperately strive to b,e, I begin to paint a new me, curious, flir, ty, and untouchable. A smile that beams ear to ear would leave a man frozen and lost for words, or at least that was my goal for tonight's evening shift. Game nights are more than likely crowded with boozy arrogant men and lost college honeys with lights filling their eyes. I smile to complete my final character in the mirror. Then I let the mask fall, staring back into the eyes with no spark, and that is again when the voices start “We do not care, we are not there, we do not share who we are in here.” shaking my head like an etch a sketch the thoughts poor out of my ears and the sparkling smile returns “I'm not listening!” I shout out loud with excitement as I skip to head out the door heading for work.

I momentarily collect myself as I catch up with what games are on which screens, who reserved what tables, or if there are any parties upstairs. To my surprise, the feeling of feeling nothing weighs heavily over me, and the thoughts that have crowded my mind make it hard to hear who is saying what. I do what I can and I smile and nod, jot down a few notes of what I did hear. I fill my water bottle up in the back room where small talk and Hello, how are yous fill the air; the complaints from the waiters and bussers are always the same: “I'm tired, I can't wait to go 0home.” My thoughts are negative, so I keep them to myself. For example, “Five minutes into a shift, and you are exhausted? You haven't made any money yet, does that not motivate you?” I've been spotted, and now I must communicate. “How are you? Do you think tonight will be busy?”

My night begins with a man approaching the front desk to ask for directions; I point the way to the exit, and he smiles and continues to chit chat, and I, the smiling lunatic, butter him up, entertain him, lie to him, deceive him. I fool him; his grin is unbearable to look at like he's just won the lottery by stretching his time to communicate with me, for what? He asks for a pen and paper, what was he even saying? What did I say that implied I wanted this guy's number? Luckily, our conversation is interrupted by a huge shout from the poker table telling the man to have a nice night. I dart towards the bathroom to have a rest. I am so focused on being present that not knowing what type of conversation I just had with that man is beginning to bug me. I run water over my hands and peek into the mirror to check my makeup and to make sure I don't have anything in my teeth. As I am caught looking into my own eyes to reflect, the chatter starts up, “We are here, do not fear when we are near, you do not feel, they do not see what we can be.”

The days that have gone by are not accounted for. My head swam with the same voice, and I searched my mind for all the time I could not recall, and the feeling of nothing that had first felt so uneasy, abnormal, and strange became comfortable, the voices were right not a person on earth could see me, the illness had completely overtaken me and I did not feel under the weather and I wasn't sick with the flu. My symptoms were numbness and immunity against other human outbursts of frustration. I simply did not care enough to react, was this how I always felt within myself? Forcing myself to feel everything I would in days past I remember I would beg to feel anything, including pain from one I thought had felt the love I swallowed up inside of me burning me to the core as well. Now, to me, that was all a fantasy, days spent dreaming of ridiculous, scandalous, heavy emotions as vulnerable as love. I snicker at the thoughts flooding my brain and my train of thought is wrecked as I am brought back to my surroundings and quickly realize I have caught the attention of a guest that has been carefully observing me, with the most peculiar eyes reading into mine, a familiar face with a soft gaze caught off guard by how quickly this man has already made his way to my front counter. Charming smiles beaming ear to ear, but it's all a facade like a drinking glass, with nothing inside, transparent and empty. “Do you think that smile covers it all up?”

I am puzzled with what this guy is even asking, my smile covering what up? Since I am working and I am paid for entertaining the guest with small talk and sweet, kind gestures of good nature and hospitality, I answer with, “Excuse me, sir? How can I help you? Are you wanting to dine in? I can find a nice table with a good view for the game tonight.” I say excitedly to promote the business I am working for and to end the awkward conversation before it has even started. I'm thrilled whenever he laughs a loud, disturbing laugh; that has caught my attention now this guy has got to be off his medications. He quickly swallows up his laughter and proceeds to ask me, “ You are sick too; you're like me, can't you see?” I'm speechless could my cover and mask not be enough to disguise the illness I have been carrying within me this whole time? Has it been noticeable all these hours as a servant to the proud people of this horrid place of drinking and gambling? “I didn't mean to catch you off guard, you're blending in well with someone who is just now experiencing the symptoms of the illness we both have been exposed to. I would like to talk more about this with you.” he left me speechless with a smile and scribbled numbers on a piece of paper.

I called him the next day to meet up. It was like a weight had been lifted from my chest, the constant pressure to fit in as a walking talking robot servant to society, always smiling and pleasant even when the company that came was not. I could breathe while sharing my story of when these symptoms had all started and why I just let things be instead of struggling to fight against whatever it was inside of me now; the voices reminded me daily I was not the same and that it was okay. It was relieving to hear someone else say “I didn't know what was wrong or how to fix it with no actual list of signs or symptoms.” I sipped on my coffee as he continued with when he might have noticed he wasn't the same anymore when the change set in or what triggered it.

We did not care what others thought of us anymore when, at one time, it meant the most to us to fit in and get along with everyone to share all of ourselves with the outside world. The validation of others will never fill you and me, and we so desperately crave to be accepted by others when true acceptance comes from within our hearts and

Minds. The Symptoms had vanished.