Two hundred and twenty-second

I’ve been sick again. Threw up yesterday. Had to wait forty minutes for my mum to pick me up. Rough times. It’s better than my brother’s been, though. He’s… ugh. I don’t even know what he’s got. He’s been awful on the inside for some time now.
I can feel my heart beating in my left eye. The pain in my chest is getting worse. Headaches, all the time. Geh.

I’ve been working on something new. We call it Potato-Talk. A piece of the global consciousness is broken off and tossed like a hot potato from one identity state to the next. In the split second when it’s left the hands of one but yet to reach the other, I can look down and see the cracks between them. A tiny glimpse into the Abyss. Words float up. I’m not certain what they mean.

We
have
seen
the
world.
do not
Take
us,
do not
want,
need,
must not
Take,
do not
Take
us
away.

No idea where this is coming from. There is a lot of emphasis on the words seen and take.

I had a body memory. I think that’s what it was. A hand, pressed against my back, near the base of my neck. But I’m not certain it was real. Though I felt it plain as day at the time, looking back I can’t be sure which hand it was, or what position it was in. Maybe I just needed something to explain why I can’t stand to have things touching my back. Or maybe it’s a sign that things are starting to change. Switches are happening more often – countless times recently people have told me about things I’ve said, things I’ve done, conversations I’ve had, that I have no memory of – and memories are getting dug up. Slowly.
I’ve been thinking about going back to our old house. Looking around. Seeing what memories that brings back. I can’t really remember the layout of it, what it looked like. Maybe on the weekend I’ll go out for a walk, find the house again, and knock on the door.