With the flick of a finger I was ushered out of the doctor's office, hands bare, shoulders slumped. "She's fine," the doctor said, a light coolness in his voice. Fancy white lab coats—ghostly figures, really—hurried through the compound as I was directed towards the exit. My mom's soft hand rested upon my shoulder.
It must all be in your mind.
My options—family doctor, arm specialists, cardiologists, neurologists, physical therapists—have all been exhausted by this point, and nothing wrong's been found.
“He says you’re fine,” Mom said.
“I know.”
As we got into the car, two teenage girls staggered down the parking lot, giggling the way cheeky kids did when they gossiped about couples or the latest celebrity drama. We drove past dark trees and vacant roads. My mom glanced at me sideways, a sad glint in her drooping eyes.
“The doc says you’re fine.”
“I know.”
“I don’t understand, out of the blue…”
“I know.”
There was no car collision, no crash. No sudden fall, no physical attribution.
It must all be in your mind.
A few months ago, I was still alive. At least—according to the theater buddies who I used to hang out with during rehearsal breaks. Did you know we used to watch Hamilton clips? I am not throwing away my shot, we sang. Yeah I’m just like my country, I’m young scrappy ‘n hungry, and I’m not throwing away my shot.
The road curved sharply inwards and Mom fumbled with the wheel as we lurched sideways. It was familiar territory, with the well-kept lawns, spacious driveways, and the cute suburban houses. Quite beautiful just looking at the pleasant exterior of our small town’s neighborhood.
My best friend Tammy used to live in one of those houses. We would stagger along the sidewalks together, giggling the way cheeky middle schoolers did when they stuck chewing gum onto the bottom of their teacher’s chairs. Tammy had been the kind of person to talk about chewing gum one moment and then connect it with the meaning of life the next. “Humanity’s just like gum,” she’d say. “Sticky. Interconnected. Dependent despite our pursuit for independence. Lost without connection.”
I covered my ears as Mom turned up her favorite 2010s pop station. The radio played the same Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift songs everyday like a broken record, over and over. “Interconnected. Lost without connection,” Tammy had also said, over and over. She too sounded just like a broken record.
I swear I saw my mom glance at me again.
“But he says you’re fine.”
“I know.”
It must all be in your mind.
The tingling has been going on for months now. Sometimes it's a minor throb. Usually, it comes in waves, rocking and twitching my forearms like the ocean. Occasionally, it feels like my arm is dangling from a piece of string, missing the bone and flesh that connects it with the rest of my body. It likes to squeeze, that piece of string. Wrapping itself around my elbow like a boa does around its prey, constricting until I’m struggling, suffocating.
I look fine. I’m supposed to feel fine.
It must all be in my mind.
That’s what they told me. Was that what they told Tammy months earlier, when she swore she was suffocating, but from the neck up? “A string wrapping around my forehead,” she said. “Weird sensations. Sometimes it feels like a bone is sticking out of there. Unexplainable stuff. Unconnected.” She tried to explain to me, but her words weren’t coherent. They made no logical sense. One moment, spasms. Next moment, vibrations. A string being pulled. A boa squeezing around her head.
“I can’t take it anymore,” Tammy told me one day. “Where is my country? I’m young, scrappy ‘n hungry. I want to throw away my shot.”
Our car pulled up into the driveway and Mom closed the radio, her eyes red and tired. She glanced at me, this time face to face. I lifted my arms straight up for her to see and stared forward.
“It hurts. I don’t understand it but it hurts. It’s dangling. It’s constricting. It shifts.”
“How could this happen? He says you’re fine.”
“I’m not.”
“I know.”
Tammy was out of her mind. Tammy was trapped in her mind.
She’s gone now.
This must all be in my mind.
“Is this all just in my mind?”