Hyperkundrium

It all started when I first put on a woollen hat in the middle of Summer. Dunno why – I just felt like it. Middle of June, but I'm losing my marbles. Could've been May.

Then I started pulling all of my grey hair from my eyebrows – they were bush-like. They mightn't have been all grey and perhaps I did pull one hair too many.

People started glaring at me, me who never had a single glance from anyone before. From the murky cranny of ignorance to the glaring blaring lights of onstage sympathy.

One day I felt like cutting my hair, they were neanderthal-like. And seeing how the clipper literally ate through the blackish mass felt exhilarating I had to shave my head.

It also coincided with me starting losing weight. I had stopped junk food first thing when I read in a magazine that there was so many cancer-prone things in it, then food altogether. Because you never know and then it was all so bland. Fruits and veggies tasted like water, meat had the consistency of rubber. The only thing that had taste left was soy milk. Boy I love soy milk. I used to drink gallons of soy milk a day.

Then I guess I thought I felt I became photosensitive. I shunned the sun and the day altogether and started living at night. So I had to have an ex-colleague of mine buy the soy milk and deliver it to me. I think she got scared shitless when she discovered the bags under my eyes. Or perhaps it was my face, she didn't say and I didn't have the opportunity to ask. But man, there's nothing like the night to soothe you, to take your time to listen to your own heartbeats and try and slow them down to a trickle.

Come to think of it, all of this must have happened during the same week or the following weeks. I lost track of time. Anyway.

People never said anything and I never said anything but I think they must have thought I had a cancer or something because they did look at me with pity in their eyes. It was kind of fun so I played along, just for a bit. And Good Lord Almighty it WAS fun. At least I got the attention I always wanted. People are way nicer when they see you dying – and even more so when they realise it's not contagious.

Eventually I had to take to my bed because my life was shit-like, dealing with joint pains and diarrheas and constipation and fever and delirium and blood transfusions and because of all the meds I started taking and I weigh now less than 40kg and doctors say I have acute and never-diagnosed-before and spontaneous forms of pancreatic cancer, leukaemia, lupus and lymphoma and something else but I forgot, all stemming from something they called hyperkundrium or something like that. Tomorrow, at best, I'll be dead.