The scenery in the rearview mirror looks different than it did yesterday.
The air around you feels heavier,
like it’s saturated with the weight of some secret that only you don’t know about.
Those who you know so well have a new jaunt when they walk, a new pitch to their laugh, and a new sparkle in their eyes when they talk.
Your world has shifted so dramatically that you wonder how you can be the only one who noticed.
You look down at your hands, flex your fingers to prove that you’re still in control.
You look at your palms, which you’ve carved the slightest crescent moons into with your finger nails just to prove that you can still feel, to prove that you are still here.  
With every step you take a new pair of eyes is born, made only to brighten the searchlight pointed at you.
Sleep is impossible because you know the enemy is around the corner, always just around the corner.
The voices tease, they whisper the secrets of the universe just below the volume of what you can register.
They tease, a sort of cat and mouse, but one where the mouse is already dead.
They pull you along until you’re spending your nights racing down the highway with all the windows down,
or lying in a field in the freezing rain as the worms start coming out of the earth,
or with the TV turned up to the max as you stare into a bowl of soup that’s been cold for the past 5 hours.
Then they make it all normal again, make you forget that anything ever changed for a few months, just until you start to get comfortable.