Crawling All Over, Part One

Whenever I close my eyes, I can feel spiders crawling around. When I open them back up, there's nothing. I know it sounds crazy, but they feel like they're really there. I haven't actually seen them, because my eyes are always closed. There's no way they could just vanish or jump away. That kind of thing can't be real. I know it has to be crazy. I wouldn't even talk about it if it didn't bother me so much.

I went to a doctor and told him everything. He had this bullshit, patronizing look on his face. Like I was some fucking kid or something. Like I don't know I'm crazy. He gave me the business card of a shrink. I was hoping he'd just have some kind of pill right there. I went and picked up some eyedrops. It's so bad I don't even want to blink. My eyes are all red and scratchy.

I don't really know how it started, or when. I think it's been going on for awhile, maybe years. It used to not be so bad, just like an itch or a tickle. I'd have a tough time falling asleep, tossing and turning, but I'd go down eventually.

Maybe a week ago it got real bad. It was all of a sudden. I woke up from a dream, jumping off the bed trying to slap them off my arm. I remember thinking, 'Whoa, that dream felt so real,' but then I was in the shower, rinsing the shampoo, and nearly fell fucking over. Since then I can only fall asleep watching late night TV and getting really drunk. I've been calling in sick to work. I have to solve this thing soon or they'll fire me.

I just looked in the mirror. I'm supposed to see my kids this weekend, but I can't do it. I look like a junkie or a... maybe a murderer or whatever. I look like shit.

I gotta make some excuse. I'll feel like a complete prick and my ex-wife is just going to get smug over it. She'll be on the phone, smiling into the receiver, filling up my ear with all her self-righteous 'Your kids expect more from you even though I know better' routine. Whatever, I gotta do it. It's not like I could be honest with her. She'd jump right on the phone to her lawyer. She's always looking for any excuse to stop the visitations.

I root through my DVDs. Maybe there's a movie I haven't seen in awhile. I could try to watch that, maybe it'll help me forget. No, nothing. It's all shit. All bullshit.

I shout and knock some shit over. My place is already a mess. A bowl slides off the table. It didn't break, so I stomp on it. Crunchy chunks of white shit under my foot. I don't feel any better.

Maybe I do need some help. I dig that card out of my pocket. I read it over a few times. It's not for a shrink, it's for a priest.