Do you ever get to the end of a day and wish like hell that you’d pushed yourself through some gruelling ordeal of physical exercise? That you were raw and driven by an enormous adrenal gland that just won’t quit. Sweating. Breathing heavy with hair wet from sweat getting in your eyes, your eyes stinging, temples pounding, chest pounding, the arteries in your neck working at full capacity. Running up a hill, scratches raked across a cheek from the boney bare fingers of near-winter trees. A wide-eyed look of terror from a lone passer-by when they see you; the freak that you are. You get to the top and you don’t stop. Chin-ups on a bar overhead, collapsing to hands and knees and bellowing into the valley before you, like an animal.
Both chasing and being chased.
Always alone but never able to get somewhere remote enough to actually be alone.
Woken by your own night-terror scream as you hopelessly attempt to shrink away from the fangs of fifty snakes.