Could someone pull the alarm? There’s something not right here. Snippets of songs play themselves over and over in my head, the same few bars, weird thing I haven’t thought of in ages, from Jesus Christ Superstar, from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, for god’s sake. I’m hot, restless. I crawl into bed and can’t slow down the growing intensity of the negative voices. They really, really hate me tonight.

It’s really like someone started a fire in my brain, and the normal connections are fried. Smoke will start pouring out my nose, ears and mouth any moment. Sound the alarm. Call the fire brigade–or perhaps an exorcist?

I tell my husband that I don’t know why it’s so bad tonight. He tries to make me laugh, while I contemplate burning myself, just a burn on my arm to counter the one in my head.

And then I think, wait, did I…? I run to the kitchen. Shit, I forgot to take my Effexor and Wellbutrin this morning. Ugh. It’s going to be a long, restless night. The fire will probably go out by noonish tomorrow, but I’ll have a sick stomach all day. It’s not the first time I’ve made this mistake, you see. At least I know what awaits me.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, really?