even though it makes me feel all ~angsty teen~

As much as I always label things “my brain” and “brian junk,” I always feel it in my chest, and I visualize it as a sort of monster that lives in there– it looks like a little black fox, all curled up inside my ribs and around my heart. Except everything from its fur to its bones is liquid, a consistency somewhere between blood and tar. When it moves, it flows. In sleep, it settles into complete stillness, but when it wakes, it sloshes all round, trying to break out of its cage. My body knows there’s not supposed to be that much liquid crashing around my lungs. That’s why it feels like I’m drowning.