in my head - brdz

BRDZ 1http://battleboredom.weebly.com/

In My Head

Tom tosses and turns every night. He had initially intended to be asleep early today. He

was aiming for bed at 9:30 and sleep at 10:00. It is now 4:00 in the morning. Tom lies awake

with a twisted ball of sheets beneath him. He turns over on his side to look out of the window.

He watches the sky turn from its plentiful navy to a fading pink. With wakeful ease, Tom

smoothly swings his legs out of bed and silently lowers the blinds. To the outer observer there is

no need to be stealthy. There is no one else in the house.

It is for the slightest chance that Tom may disturb himself that he creeps through his

home at night. After all, there is something else trying to sleep. It seems that the brain portion,

just behind Tom’s forehead, has been replaced with a small creature that now occupies the space.

*

The change began with intense migraines shortly after Tom was put up for promotion to

the head of his sales team. The pain typically happened in the mornings after Tom’s routine

coffee. By the time he was at work the minor headache would escalate to a migraine. It caused

him become increasingly agitated at his fellow employees’ incompetence and also their

competence; his mood did not discriminate. Many would normally contest to Tom’s poise and

kindness, he always offered tips on how to seal the deal with a client when needed, but he still

struggled under the throbbing. People were taking notice of Tom’s shift.

Over a routine skype call, Tom’s girlfriend, Teresa, recommended replacing coffee with

green tea and taking Advil only if necessary. They met through work at a Betty Crocker

distributor. Tom worked with clients from the office and phones while Teresa worked as a


traveling sales agent. He assured her that he would feel much better once she returned from her

business trip at the end of the month.

Once the pain subsided Tom would to revert back to his positive outlook. In fact, he

would be much more excitable than normal from sheer relief. After a week or two the migraines

faded away but his mood changes did not. No longer distracted by the physical pain, Tom was

able to focus on the comings and goings of his inner turmoil. Tom realized that the voice in his

head during his angered and excited states was not his own. It felt to Tom as if another’s will was

influencing and agitating normally placid emotions. On a day of particular excitement,

“What’s up with you, Tom?” Matthew Kimble pulled him aside. Matt was also a

salesmen, his commission was second only to Tom.

“Yea. Of course. I’m great too!” The words bubbled from Tom’s mouth as he swayed

side to side as if he was holding in urine.

“Tom Tom Tom…Slow down. You’ve been acting strange lately.” Matthew put both of

his hands on Toms shoulders.

“Strange? How so?” Tom shifted into an intense whisper and wriggled out from under

Matts grasp. “I feel like I can nail this meeting right now. I’ll sell the shit out of our stock of

Betty Crocker Easy Bake Ovens! Anything! I’ll get it done.”

“I have no doubt you will put your all in but…We’ve known each other for some time

now and to be honest I think you’re a little unstable at the moment. Too unstable for the clients

that are waiting for us in the next room right now. Now, I’ve spoken with the boss and-”


“What? Matt, come on. Where is this coming from?” Just then, the realization set in. Tom

has been acting strange; from the sulking and agitation a few days prior to the elated mood he

was experiencing at the moment. Suddenly he began to regret his emotional overtness; an

episode of depersonalization crashed into Tom like a salty wave as he recounted his lack of

composure recently.

“Tom, you’ve just been acting so Goddamn emotional and intense and- I don’t want to

see you lose your promotion in there. I know you’re up for one.” Matt patted Tom on the arm

with a wink.

“Emotional? What the hell are you trying to do here?” Tom shoved his way pass Matt

and out of the building. Tom sat in his car reflecting for some time before imagining Matt taking

his clients. This caused Tom to enter an abnormal and violent fit in which he viciously failed to

tear off the seat belt around him and the steering wheel in front of him. Afterwards he headed

home.

First, Tom visited a plump psychiatrist named Dr. Martin. Dr. Martin’s office was more

of a miniature library than a room to disclose personal matters. Tom partially expected Dr.

Martin to hush him quiet when he walked in. With the exception of the door and a large window

directly behind Dr. Martin’s desk, the walls were covered with wooden book shelves. During

Tom’s only visit with the doctor, he was uncomfortably reclined on a couch while Dr. Martin

swiveled back and forth in his chair behind his desk.

“What you describe is truly perplexing. I haven’t had a challenging case in the longest

time. Now, tell me more about the voice,” said Dr. Martin.

“Challenging case? What’s..um…” Tom trailed off, unsure of whether he wanted to ask.


“Oh. I just mean unique. That’s all. So, does this voice have a particular sound? Anyone

you know. Mother? Father? Anybody that comes to mind.” Dr. Martin probed.

“No, it’s not like that.” Tom edged, “It’s my thoughts but…it’s not. It’s…like someone is

thinking for me.”

“Hmm. That sounds…interesting. And you say that this all occurred after the migraines?

Which was no doubt caused by the stress of the promotion. How could migraines cause such

instability?” The doctor rotated his chair to face the window in deep thought. “Like someone’s

thinking for you... Have you told anyone about this? You’re going to be an important man. You

have a truly fascinating case.” Dr. Martin gazed past his reflection in the window to the outdoors.

“Think I’ve had enough for now.” Tom said to the back of Dr. Martin’s head. “Thank

you, I’ll call to reschedule.” He fled before Dr. Martin could swivel his pudgy frame back

around.

A few days of dodging Dr. Martin’s calls, Tom began looking towards medicine for

answers; solutions rather than speculations that could land him anywhere. A week later, Tom

paid to have an MRI done. The young freckled lab technician in the hospital was more straight

forward than Dr. Martin.

“So…” The lab technician flipped through Tom’s paperwork. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Good.

Good. You claustrophobic?”

“What?” Tom said.

“I have to ask,” she said impatiently. “You afraid of small spaces?”

“Oh. No, I’m not.”


“Good!” She punctuated the sentence with a pop of her bubble gum. “’Cause that’s

somethin’ you should’ve considered earlier seeing as you personally paid for this. You know

how an MRI works right?”

“I thought you were going to be the one running the machine.” Tom tried to joke through

his anxiety.

“Funny. I mean, are you familiar with the process. Ever see House or any show like

that?”

Once on the MRI table, Tom gave the thumbs up and the bed slowly slid into the

machine. The MRI clunked and cracked as it snapped the pictures of Tom’s brain. He clenched

his fist as if resisting the suffocating hum of the machine. With each jarring noise Tom felt his

forehead begin to throb as it did before. Tom increasingly became more agitated as the seconds

and sounds passed by. After ten minutes Tom was ready to get out.

“How much longer does this have to be” Tom said exasperated.

“Just making sure you get your money’s worth.” Said the technician from the intercom.

“No, I’m ready to get out now.” Tom jerked his shoulders. Anger pooled in his chest

“Easy! I thought you said you weren’t claustrophobic.”

After 45 minutes the pictures were processed. The lab technician and head neuroscientist

came to deliver the images. The lab technician posted the pictures on a white light board so they

could be seen clearly. Tom apologized profusely for his outburst before she left; another failure

in his new battle for self-possession. Only the old and weary neuroscientist remained. She plainly


informed Tom that after several pictures they were able to confirm that there is an organism

occupying part of his brain.

“Well. It is roughly the size of an acorn, humanoid in shape, and inhabits the entirety of

the frontal lobe.” The neuroscientist tapped and circled the creature on the plastic image.

“Although the brain continues to function, I cannot stress enough that you must seek out help.

Now, if your insurance covers it I recco-”

“How did this thing happen?” Tom whispered, afraid to admit reality.

“At this point, it’s a mystery. It’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen,” the old neuroscientist

bluntly put as if she was unable to comprehend the weight of her own words.

“Why…Why did this happen...to me?” Tom’s hand covered his forehead.

“Well, that’s a harder question. I’ve never…” The neuroscientist glanced at the images

then back to Tom as if she could finally see his predicament through her 20 hour shift haze. She

sighed with helpless sympathy; her years of experience with aneurysms and tumors had

desensitized her to the terminally ill-fated, “sometimes we are given things that no one else has.

And it’s up to us to be the ones strong enough to live with it. The test is how we do it.” She

patted Tom’s arm. Her sensitive yet insufficient touch caused Tom to suddenly relived his last

encounter with Matt; it was the last time Tom had been to work in a week. He remembered his

promotion and he remembered Teresa. He hasn’t spoken to her since he stopped working.

“Live like this? Do you not realize…” Tom became dizzy and swayed left and right.

“But…it’s in my head.”


Tom spent rest of the day in hospital bed rest after he crumpled to the floor. It disturbed

Tom that the neuroscientist was so certain that his predicament was out of the realm of anyone’s

experience. Tom’s worries circled his head like water down a drain. Teresa was coming and no

matter what procedure Tom undergoes, it seemed there is no chance of removing this miniature

entity from his skull without killing Tom as well. Teresa was coming and Tom hasn’t heard from

work. His sick days are unexcused. Teresa was coming. Tom from shook his head like a 70’s

rock star trying to jostle the little guy up in a fit aimless frustration because Teresa was coming.

Tom called her again after he returned to life and work the following Monday.

“So, how goes it? We haven’t talked in forever. At least is seems that way, I’ve been so

busy. Can you believe only one more week and I home!” Teresa said.

“I lost my promotion,” Tom blurted.

“What why?”

“I just found out today.” He was defeated. “They gave it to Matt.”

“Matt Kimble? Why would they give it to Matt Kimble? He’s the guy that kept patting

and touching my arms at the company picnic a little while back.”

“Yea. That’s him.” Tom’s throat trembled as he exhaled.

“Did they say why? You always managed to stay ahead of him in numbers.”

“No. No, I didn’t ask.”

“What? Why not? That promotion was yours.”


“I thought so. I didn’t know there were others…I haven’t been doing so well at work. I

guess it was closer than I thought.” Tom looked away from the webcam.

“Well, they can’t pass you up just because of a slow period. That’s bullshit! I knew there

was a reason I never wanted a Betty Crocker bake set as a girl. I’m waiting for those bozos to

pick the right salesman.” Teresa flashed a smile on screen that caused the computer’s glow to

flicker momentarily on Tom’s face.

“Thank you.” Tom didn’t say anything more and Teresa got the sense that it was time to

change subjects.

“So, what are we doing when I come home at the end of the month?”

Tom became increasingly depressed over the next two weeks as he could not help but

dwell on his conversation with Teresa. He spent days trying to understand what has happened to

him buy scavenging encyclopedias. He spent much longer asking why, questioning his faith in

anything. Tom could not come to terms with the sudden curse of this malicious head faerie. The

imp in his head prevented him from completing a full week of work and left him miserably

cursing the world from bed. Tom found one effective method of coping against the imp; assuring

only alcohol rich blood reached the brain. Several receipts in Tom’s coat pocket from the liquor

store would prove his desperate foray into alcoholism. Luckily, Tom was able to resist his

downhill decline in anticipation of seeing Teresa the coming weekend.

“I’m so glad to be home.” Teresa said as she and Tom pulled into the driveway.

“Me too. Long trip?”


“Nah, I’m a little beat but it was the same old. How’s work. Everything alright?” The car

doors shut.

“Yea, I’m feeling fine now, especially since you here. And I only fantasize about beating

Matt Kimble 50 percent of the time, which is an improvement from the 80 percent chance of ass

kicking of last week. Anyways, we have a lot of TV to catch up on and some pizza rolls that

have yet to be consumed.”

“Well, then they will be consumed just yet.” Teresa laughed then opened the door to the

house.

“Home sweet home.” Tom said

“Looks like you started celebrating my arrival early.” Teresa smiled and picked up a used

wine glass.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Tom nervously smiled and set down Teresa’s bag. “I got some

really gourmet wine. The guy at the wine and spirits place said it would be just phenomenal with

pizza rolls.”

Tom was sad to see Teresa go again the following week. He was also relieved. He no

longer had to resist the pulls of his brain pixie like he did around Teresa; forcing himself to stay

calm and collected. He was exhausted from holding the truth back from Teresa and from

resisting the malicious tugs from his mind. Tom loathed himself for resorting to alcohol. He

imagined Teresa’s face if she found how he was destroying himself. When he returned from the

airport for Teresa’s red eye, Tom immediately sunk into bed. He was drained yet determined to

ditch the alcohol and gain control over his imp.


After researching and exploring every commonly known medical and therapeutic avenue,

Tom resorted to less conventional methods. Tom’s interest was caught by psychedelic therapy.

He decided to use marijuana to pull himself out of alcoholism and to introduce himself world of

the shaman’s remedies. But first, Tom had to lure in a supplier of the herbal skeleton key for the

soul; the pizza boy. Over the next few weeks Tom ordered many pizzas and calzones. Tom found

that much like the alcohol affected the pixie, the purple haze does as well. Tom used the weed to

dull the intensity of the creature. Unfortunately, it also dampened and clouded Tom. He would

let his mornings fade away with the potent fog, the work days blow by, only to burn again in the

night.

Though the pot soothed him, Tom knew he needed something more than exploring the

effect of altered brain states on the imp. What Tom desired was a sense of control, as sense of

ownership of his own actions. Tom made weekly visits to a small Buddhist monastery secluded

in the woods. He preferred the isolation while walking around the grounds. He read the literature

and practiced meditation to in an attempt to clear and focus his mind. He would spend long

afternoons in the monastery’s intricate garden listening to leaves shake and the birds sing. One

day a monk briefly paused raking the garden to speak to Tom.

“What’s on your mind?” The monk said. “I see you are meditating but you are not at

peace. Your eyes search for answers on the back of your eyelids. I can see them moving. Look at

mine.” The monk closed his eyelids and looked around beneath them. “See, you can see them

moving too.”


“Oh, yes.” Tom said mildly embarrassed. He remembered the monk from the morning

ceremonies Tom would regularly attend. Tom didn’t how to respond to the monk, he seemed

much wiser than Tom.

“What are you looking for?” The monk asked as he continued to rake the gravel.

“I’m not sure.”

“Yes, you are sure. It is why you are here isn’t it? You are looking. Why are you

looking? You do not need to be so wise to know.”

Tom thought for a second. Tom wasn’t sure what answer the monk wanted, he felt as if

the monk already knew. “I guess, to be not how I am. I haven’t been myself lately and I’m not

sure if the change can be undone. I’m not even sure why I have changed. I just have. There’s

nothing I can do about it.”

“There is nothing you can do about it.” The monk repeated loudly as if it was the answer

he expected.

“Yea, that’s my problem.”

“So. What now?”

“I want it to go away.”

“But there is nothing you can do about it.” The monk moved on to trimming an adjacent

bonsai tree.

“Right.”


“Why do you want something that you cannot have again? It is gone. It does not exist

anymore.”

“I don’t know.” Tom shrugged. “What do I do from here?”

“You can go there. Or there. Or there.” The monk pointed to three locations around the

garden. “You can go home. I don’t know where you will go. If you don’t know, how will I

know? I only know you are sitting there and I am right here.” The monk resumed raking the

garden.

It was there, with a cool breezing passing through him, that Tom’s reality seemed to

materialize in front of him. He realized that there was no one who could explain what has

happened to him. There is no procedure or medicine that can cure him. Tom will never know

why this imp chose him as its host; only that it has.

Tom found that if he could isolate his imps influence through meditation then he would

be able to learn how to mentally cope against it. He focused on the present, on the comings and

goings of each emotion. When Teresa was away, Tom spent much of his free time focusing on

taming the imp. He alternated between various approaches; from Buddhist meditations to herbal

inhalations. While Tom made progress consciously accepting the presence of his mental faeries

when they arise, he was exhausted from simultaneously restricting himself. He was beat by

balancing his acceptance and submission to this new life.

*

Now, Tom lies in bed unable to sleep. He looks at the clock beside his bed again, 4:45.

Teresa’s plane will be arriving at 6:30 this morning. It has becomes apparent to Tom that he is


not going to sleep. He anxiously tosses and turns in his sleep as his thoughts about the totality of

his condition spins like the wheels of a car peeling out. It has been months since Tom’s fateful

diagnosis. Tom tries to accept the presence of the squatter in his skull but he cannot help but be

reminded of his heart resident. It is sunrise as Tom and Teresa arrive at their home.

“Did I mention that you look like you need a thousand year nap?” Teresa says

energetically as she speeds to the refrigerator. “C’mon! Wakey Wakey! It’s the middle of the

day where I was. It’s so nice to be home again.”

“I’m really glad you’re here too.” Tom smiles toothlessly and hesitantly follows after her.

“What’s up?” Teresa eyes Tom. “You been a little robotic. Tired?”

“No its not…I just. I’ve got something on my mind.” Tom plops down on a bar stool

beneath the sky light in the kitchen.

Teresa sits down next to him with a glass of orange juice. “Well then…” She put a hand

on Tom’s knee. “You want me to take it… off your mind.” She winked.

“I just want to get it over with.” Tom says as he drops his head into his palms.

“Excuse me?” Teresa says with cartoonish exaggeration in an effort to cheer him up.

“Ooooh no, not that. I plan on taking my time with that.” Tom flashes a grin and does a

double wink back. A moment later and it is gone. “But…there’s something I have to tell you. It

happened a few months ago. Before I tell you, you have to promise not to worry about me and I

love you. There’s no reason to worry about it anymore. I’m fine.”

“Okay, I love you too…where is this going?” Teresa shifts toward Tom.


“Well I went to the hospital for those headaches…and they found a-”

“Oh my God! Tom!” Teresa gasps and grabs Tom’s hand. Immediately tears begin to

pool on the lip of her lower eye lids. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Oh my, I can’t…No Tom!

No…” She looked up through the sky light holding her tears on the surface of her eyes.

“No no no! Please, I’m not going to die. It’s not like that. I’m not going anywhere.” Tom

grabs her hand in both of his. His voice trembles “I want to be with you. So I have to tell you…”

Tom grabs her other hand. “…I’ve been cursed with this thing. This thing they found living in

me. In my head. It’s…I don’t know what but it seems to influence my mood and how I behave.”

“What are you saying?”

“There is a creatu- an organism occupying the front portion of my brain. I got an MRI.”

“This is… crazy.” Teresa shakes her head and her tears free. “It’s not possible.”

“But it is somehow. I’ve been living with it. I’m sorry I took so long…”

“Do you…pictures?”

“Yes.” Tom brings the MRI scans from the bedroom.

Teresa stares at the pictures for a long moment then looks at Tom. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s more of the moods I feel.”

“Do you feel it right now?”

“No.”


“I’m so sorry, Tom. I should have known something was up. How’d you cope with this

all this time?”

“It’s been hard. It’s been hard keeping myself together. Sometimes I just want to scream.

But it’s usually just the thing in my head. I’m just learning to accept it, you know? I didn’t want

to hide it from you anymore.”

“Tom…” She kisses him. “I’ll always be right here.” Then Teresa kisses Tom’s forehead.

She stares at Tom’s weary comfortable face. “Have you named it?”

“What? No. Not yet.” Tom sniffles and laughs.

“We should name it Chuck.” Teresa snickers and pokes Tom’s side.

“We are not naming it after your father. I definitely wouldn’t be able to make through

that.” Both of them laugh. Tom leans forward and wipes Teresa’s wet cheek. “You want to go

cope with me? I have a left over calzone that will change the way you see the world.”

“Oh really?”

“It’s a special calzone.”

in my head - brdz

Entertainment & Humor