Rainy Days and Lost Time

It's Sarah here. Strangely, though, I never remember creating this blog... I must have last night, in my fatigued haze last night. All of Friday evening seems a blur; the last thing I remember is sitting by my small fireplace and opening up Pride and Prejudice, my third time reading the book and then later waking up this morning on my bed, a sparkly boa of pink feathers around my neck, and the distinct smell of alcohol on my breath. I must have dozed off and decided to have a mini self-party, celebrating my own 21st birthday, and went to have a sip of wine. I usually never drink alcoholic, but yesterday must have been a special occasion, and afterwards, I probably just went to bed early. Still, the abnormality of the entire situation lingers on my mind.

This morning has been a rainy one, and though the rain has considerably diminished in size, I can still hear the gentle pit pat, pit pat of the rain against my window. It is quite calming. Time has passed quickly these past few months, and I feel as though it has been slipping out of my grasp. One minute, I will be spacing out while laying on my couch, and the next minute, I will be sitting at the desk, in front of my computer, browsing party dresses. Now, I keep a watch on my wrist at all times and frequently check the time, for these frequent occurrences of lost time terrify me.

I have always been a type of solitary girl, very individualistic and independent. However, I feel myself becoming more and more lonely and experiencing, especially, an out-of-body experience. At times, I have the sensation that I am watching myself do things or that I am detached from my own body. While my mind thinks to do one thing, another voice or some command tells my body to do another action. This has intensified every since I recently bought a new wall clock at the store last week. It was a cute little clock, with Mickey hands at the ends of the minute and hour hands and a turquoise border around it. The clock face even had little pictures of the Mickey characters. The only downside to this clock was the unnaturally loud ticking sound that it made. Every second, the clock would sound, tick tock, tick tock; this noise has irritated me for as long as I can remember, and the other day, the sound seemed to get louder and louder: tick tock, Tick Tock, TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK. In a blind fit of rage, I couldn't handle myself, and I thrust the clock at my wall. It shattered into pieces.

Am I going mad?

Note: This is a project for a high school AP Psychology course. This is a fictionalized account of having a psychological ailment. For questions about this blog project or its contents, please email the teacher, Laura Astorian: laura.astorian@cobbk12.org.