The man carried me one step after another, and with each of these slight ups and downs, I felt my psyche taking more damage, giving way to the paranoia.
I, meanwhile, knew how it was to spiral down, which should have helped me to stop the process.
But at the same time, I had also become an expert at identifying and using the smallest incidents as clues, as evidence, as assurance—knowledge that I could serve myself, shove it down my throat to then choke on the fear spreading through my mind and body.
Always, always looking for fake control in these helpless situations, by 'seeing the bigger picture' and 'finally facing the truth'—but wasn't it...
Wasn't it just my mind playing me dirty?
