As with most weekends, I took the opportunity to visit my father's house for the day. It's about 30 minutes out of the way by car, and since I'm in middle school, my dad has to drive to and from my mom's house when we do such an exchange.

I may not have mentioned it yet, but my parents divorced by the time I was in the third grade, creating chaos for some time, though nothing between them got too heated. As a result, paying child support was left out of the process entirely, with both of them obtaining joint custody of me and my brother. With that came a permanent deal between them. I would live with my mom, but be allowed to visit my dad on the weekends. Sometimes it was a Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Other weeks, it varied between going only on Saturdays, skipping only Sundays, whatever we were in the mood for.

So today, I went to my dad's. The home there is cozy enough. I used to live here after all. This was the primary house I used to live in until their breakup. Ever since then, my mom is the one who moved out and we jumped around schools a little until things settled down. So coming here on any weekend day felt very routine. I of course was broken up about it for a while, but have since settled down about the whole issue. There is nothing I can do about it anyway if I wanted to.

Still, there was one thing I wasn't fond of each time I had to ride to the house. It's only been this way for a few months, but my dad seems to have a habit of buying cars that have breaking or broken air conditioners. They work when he buys them, then they break several months later. One could say that's what he gets for buying them used, but honestly I don't know a single person that this has happened to, not this often anyway. With a broken AC and a late warm front pushing the air past 90oF, just waiting in the car ride was enough to meltdown.

Not that it is any surprise, but I don't do well in heat. I dehydrate too fast and fail to keep myself regulated in a blaze if I'm out there for too long. It's one of the reasons aside from the asthma that I don't typically go outside. Even when I'm ill dressed for the weather, I do much better in the cold than in the heat. If I'm not careful, it can make me physically ill.

When I got home today, it was a terrible drag. My metabolism took a big hit from being out there. When I settled into the door and bathed in the cooling air conditioned house, I still felt far away from normal again. Whatever energy I had before coming here really was melted away by the intense blaze of the sun. Pretty uncalled for in October, but that's Georgia for me.

Tired as I was however, I knew I needed a drink. There was no way I would be okay for much longer without one. Luckily, my dad always makes sure to buy one of those large 32-case bottled waters wrapped in the plastic. Even if they were not cold, I had to have something to drink immediately. So, that's the first thing I went for.

I opened the cap on the bottle, letting it fall to the floor since I knew where all of this fluid was going. Slamming the end of the bottle to my lips, I proceeded to slowly and carefully chug it all, breathing with my nose while my throat was busy tunneling my remedy. Sure enough, I drank the whole 16 ounce bottle in one go, ignoring the others as they unpacked everything from the car before I could.

But even though all of that water felt good to drink, I knew I needed a lot more. So, I opened another bottle of water, and chugged it down too. Only a minute passed, allowing me to rest on the kitchen chair, still feeling so sick from the heat outdoors. But once I had enough motivation to get up again, I went for the third bottle.

You might be thinking by now that I'm overdoing it a little. But I'm not trying to prove anything. I really am as thirsty as I feel right now. A third bottle won't hurt me. Plus, I don't care if I have to go to the bathroom in cycles in a few minutes from now. I just need to stop feeling so firkin thirsty.

I took a deep fulfilling breath of fresher air, enhanced by that cascade of water before dumping the empty plastic into the trash... But after a few more seconds of breathing, I still felt fairly compelled to continue drinking more. So, on went with my forth bottle.

"Alright!" Nigel nudged at his older son. "Take it easy on the water man!" He didn't see me slam the first bottle of water, but it wasn't hard to miss the last three.

Upon hearing my dad's unnecessary concern, I ceased my drinking only when I got about halfway through, far more satisfied now than I was before. Still, it is only water. "I was thirsty."

"God! No kidding! You're gonna make yourself sick drinking that much." He then walked off to the side, continuing brining in whatever other groceries were bought from the store, but he knew I would be able to hear him from the living room.

I didn't say anything in return though. Water never made me sick before, so I refused to believe it could fail me now. Everyone else is always drinking soda, coffee, milkshakes, or horrible energy drinks. But I just take to water, nothing else. So of course I had nothing to worry about. "Grrrn!"

Did I speak too soon? This horrible feeling in my stomach, like all of my muscles there are tightening too much, it's getting worse. I couldn't hide my painful grown as it all intensified shortly after my guzzling. But this pain was already there to begin with, a symptom of what I assumed to be heat sickness. There was something more familiar to it, but I couldn't care less about the semantics at the moment.

My father walked by, wondering what sound I had just made. He looked at me like I was stupid and remarked, "Told ya so." Then he just walked off again down the hallway, allowing me to sit here in pain, learning my lesson the hard way, not that I understood what this was about. But I was still sure he could do nothing for me, so I just did the next best thing. Ignoring my nearly insatiable thirst for water, I stumbled over to the sofa, laying down backwards on the comfy lumps of fluff, giving myself the relaxation my body wanted.

Lying down was a good idea; it was the right thing to do in a situation like this... My whole body was giving me the double middle finger salute. My stomach feels like it might twist into a knot. A slight dizziness accompanied me, lingering over from the heat exhaustion I faced outside. And it still took a rather long time for my skin to adjust to the air conditioned space around me. Of course, as I expected, my mind was more than active enough to keep me far away from the sensation of needing to sleep. I simply felt too sick to move.

After lying here in this dead-end state, for about fifteen minutes, my stomach pain subsided, but my fatigue did not. This feeling all throughout me right now, I do recognize it after all, but the pain masked it a bit until now. This haunting horror of fatigue was a different kind of beast. Slow Metabolism: The instance that a person's metabolic process is slowed down below their average point, reducing their ability to recover physical energy.

That's what I have right now. My average metabolic speed is actually lightning fast. It's the reason I eat so much these days and still stay so fit, if not for the scrawniness in my bone-arms. It comes in handy when I take two bites of something and then the sensation of intense hunger is eliminated right on the spot, assuming I keep eating until I'm nearly full.

But this is what happens to people when they eat too much in one go. This terrible forced feeling of laziness and sluggishness, as if I could move my body but don't care to try. Essentially, recovering from that can be a difficult and tricky task. All I could do was wait and hope for my recovery to be swifter than normal.

I guess in my case, it wasn't that I overate, but overdrank that started this all. I never even thought such a thing was possible. But I guess drinking too much water at once can trigger the same set of issues. I was actually fighting against an urge to drink even more, my throat drying in the struggle. But I resisted just long enough to finally take it easy.

Still, fifteen more minutes passed, and I still didn't want to move off the couch. If I were an ordinary person, I might find some joy in this situation, because I could just loaf around and play some mindless television while I drift away into a nap. But that isn't even close to how I really am. Being unable to put something onto my mind bothers me a lot. What I came here to do was to play some awesome video games, or at the very least work on a new script for my short story. As long as it loaded down and occupied half of the thoughts swimming around in my mind, I was all for it. But lying here like this won't work. I've got absolutely nothing to focus on over here.

Everything that I want to do is over in the computer room. So, that is where I need to be the most... Come on, Reed. Move! I must have sent every possible brain signal to move my arms and legs in a manner that would get me off this couch, but all it made me do was tremble a little. Will power alone isn't going to cut it. I have to really try, try as hard as I possibly can to move again! Giving it another heartfelt attempt, I pushed through my limits holding me back, and finally got off this couch. Standing up at all made me a little lightheaded. With how dehydrated I still felt, it was no surprise to me.

At last, I made it into the computer room, my mind feeling rushed and hazy after having thirty consecutive minutes of no fun activities. I was far away from tired. Even if my body was being left behind, my mind was throwing thoughts 500 times per minute. Having that with nothing to focus on only made me more anxious and pissed off. But at last, I was able to boot up the stupid machine and prepare it for gaming...

I have a wide selection to choose from even though I only play a few of them. Solar Empire is a good one, and so is Crysis. But I have literally played, beaten, and won every video game in this house. Having already experienced the maximum possible joy from each one of them, it was actually more difficult today to pick one of the two favorites and keep it going. As soon as I started Crysis, I played for only five minutes before shutting the game down from boredom. So, I booted up the other game. Three minutes, same thing. So I tried one of the ones I have not played in a while. Five minutes was the most I could handle...

I must not be in the mood for games today. But still, I have to find something to do. My compelling sensation forced me to think of something that would be more interesting than games. Deciding to shut down the PC after all, I turned to my backup option instead; writing my short story. It really should have been a simple thing to do. But when I do write at all, I have to be in the zone before I can do anything. My emotions, my rhythm, my music – it all must synch up with the moment I want to transcribe onto the paper.

There was only one problem. Every song I put on didn't match my current mysterious mood. When I tried to focus my thoughts onto the book, I failed to not be distracted by the maze of everything else. My thoughts were everywhere else but here, on other games, fantasy worlds, my memories and experiences, there wasn't one single thought process that favored any particular subject matter or moment. It was a little rare for me, since there is always bias in that thick head of mine. Even when I'm lost in a trace, a majority of those 500 thoughts are caught up in some details to whatever is causing it. But right now in this moment, there is no bias; it's pure chaos!

Balancing my emotions for the book was for the same reason impossible. Whatever was happening was only pissing me off, so that's simply how I felt. But even worse to the problem, everything I tried to do wasn't cutting it anymore. I either couldn't do something because I was literally too bored to try it, or I was getting bored of whatever I try to do too quickly to be able to sink into it. Because of this horrible cycle, I failed to have anything to do, anything to occupy my mind at least. And that is why I was pissed off right now.

It's a stupid way to think in hindsight, but I couldn't help it. I felt the powerful desperation inside of me to find something to do, even if I have been failing already. I could go outside... No, I felt like I could liquefy the last time I was out there. I could bird watch through the window... How boring would that be? Come on Reed! Think! There must me something to do! Is there some other old game I could replay from start? It wasn't likely, but I was sure to try it now.

I waited impatiently for my PC to boot back up as I nervously rummaged through all of the older disks and gaming CDs. It didn't matter to me what I played, as long as it was able to interest me and stop me from feeling this way. So I tried Serious Sam again. Just thinking about it made me abort the launch cycle of the game. When I've beaten it on the maximum difficulty, there wasn't any new content to gain out of it. Unreal Gold maybe? No. It has a lot of levels, but the game takes a long time for them to be of any interest. Secret Weapons Over Normandy! As excited as I was for that title, I soon enough remembered that we were missing a CD, courtesy of my brother who can't take care of anything at his age...

I exhaled roughly in a silent fit that this was taking too long and leading up to nothing. I can't explain why this bothers me so much, but it just does! It bothers me so much that I can't stand it! Jumping up from my chair with somewhat crossed eyes, I held both sides of my head without realizing it, rocking back and forth a little while I felt my rage intensify from the main problem before me. "I have to find something to do. I have to find something to do! I have to find something to do!" I repeated it over and over quietly in my mind, though it was so noisy right now that nothing really seemed to get through to me. All I wanted was something to do. Apparently, that was currently too much to ask for! I've never gotten bored of everything this quickly before, but hell if I care about the reasons.

I rushed out of the computer room, storming down the hallway in silence as I started formulating a new strategy. My dad was downstairs in the basement, which was his own gaming room setup, while my brother was up to god knows what in his other room. There must be something I can do somewhere in the living room, even if I have to look around everywhere for something. The only items of interest in the living room are the television, projector, and a window. Watching TV was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew that it would not provide even a fraction of the entertainment a game could. If I could be bored of a game so easily, TV was automatically out of the question.

Since that too failed, I tried going back outside, hoping I could find or discover something to do out there. But by simply opening the door, I was reminded about the blazing heat of this impossible summer storm. I shut the door with a mild slam, annoyed that everywhere I turned, there was just nothing to do. I seemed to have fully regained all of my physical strength, but now there was nothing I could do about it at the moment.

I walked back up the stairs before the front door, leaning against the kitchen wall while holding my face in my hands. I tried my best, but nothing I came across seemed interesting enough. Despite knowing I was out of options, a clustered mess of thoughts clouded any further logic I could come up with. A building rage began to consume me, a rage which I had no right to deny. I could feel every last thought inside my head speed up, accelerate, and tighten my nerves all at the same time. I quickly warmed up to the response of my rapid pulse. But as for myself and my consciousness, I had bigger problems to deal with.

No matter how hard I try, I still can't find something to do! "Ha-ha!" I let out without realizing, as my entire reality around me began to darken a little. "I still can't find anything to fucking do!" Though I kept my voice to a near whisper still, I wasn't intent on going down quietly. Having nothing to do infuriated me to no end, accelerating my anger and my hostility towards myself and everything around me. My thoughts became ever more rampant, and I finally decided that I'd had enough. I kicked the side of the bag containing almost thirty water bottles, launching it from the kitchen to the living room as it tumbled and generated a lot of racket.

But that didn't make me feel even a little better. The problem wasn't resolved! I still have nothing to do! I have to have something to do! My arms began trembling as I rested them against the wall, trying not to puke from my anger. But before long, I couldn't shake the core of the issue, too hung up on my problem to give a damn about what was happening around me. So I stopped caring about all of it, until there was no place left for me to observe anymore. Even though unleashing my rage didn't make me feel any better, I couldn't deny my body what it craved so badly.

Moving further into the kitchen, I shoved the refrigerator with as much force as I possibly could. I knew I couldn't punch it without breaking my hand, so I shifted over to the dishwasher and kicked the machine as hard as I could with my shoe, sure to cause it some more calamity. I then pounded my fist on top of the counter, three times in succession, as hard as I possibly could.

The noise and commotion I was making certainly got everybody's attention. I could hear the footsteps from below ground moving, traveling to the door leading to the split staircase. But my brother decided to poke his head out even sooner, standing there in the hallway. What does he know? What does he care? He isn't going to solve this problem! There isn't anything for me to do Ivan! Out of control, I took a glass cup that was on the counter and lobbed it in Ivan's direction, putting through as much force as I possibly could.

Ivan had the sense and reaction speed to dodge the cup, but it shattered after slamming into the wall beside him. While Ivan was cussing me out in a confused panic, my father was almost all the way up to the stairs by now. Whether I hit him or not didn't matter. I can't find anything to do! Unable to resolve my own problem or relieve myself of this impossible rage, I ended up tilting my head up and screaming as loud as I could, as if someone had put me through the most intense pain possible. But I wasn't hurt even a little. "Why is there nothing to do in this place!" Though my question was rhetorical, I chanted this at the top of my lungs too, all while moving over to the wooden pantry door to pond on it with my fists in succession. A few more hits and I would bust right through this door with vigor.

"What in god's name are you doing?!" Nigel couldn't believe the scene in front of him. His own son was never this violent for any particular reason. And it didn't seem to him as though my reactions were discriminating against anyone in particular. But despite my presence before him, I just continued on my never-ending rampage, growing louder and more violent by the seconds. Seeing no other way, Nigel decided enough was enough. "That does it! Come here you!" In a quick reaction, Nigel spun me halfway around, and held me back behind the shoulders.

He's trying to stop me! He's trying to prevent me from finding something to do! "Let me go! Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" I really reached for my voice on this, not understanding what was going on. I tried my hardest to escape from my father's grasp, failing since he was stronger and bigger than me. But being held back like this only made me angrier, so I screamed as if I were being attacked, not that it felt like I wasn't.

Nigel tightened his grip and solidified his stance, realizing that something was very wrong with me. Whatever was going on wasn't my normal behavior, nor was this something akin to general anger. Pure unfiltered violent rage. Judging by the broken glass on the ground, I probably wasn't even aware of what I was doing, that I nearly hurt someone on purpose. So, Nigel kept me in this hold, fighting against a demon trying to escape and continue a pointless rampage.

I just kept screaming, kept fighting and raging on! It was all I could think of now, finding something to do became the only fractured thought process, and there was no room to consider anything else. My thoughts betrayed me all at once, surrounding my consciousness from all sides and bombarding me with the same commands.

My screaming words tried to match my own thoughts, but all I could get out were yells and screams against the fighting struggle around me. Pulling all of my weight against the firm grip locking my arms behind me, I would do anything to get out of this endless loop, so that I could find something to do. Not having anything to do was unacceptable, and I would not tolerate such a reality. I'll fight until my last dying breath!

And right on cue, all of the energy from my entire body drained down to my feet at once, turning me from hot to cold as if all of my blood vanished from my veins. I felt a crushing level of dizziness and lightheadedness, so strong that it sapped all of the strength I had left from me. Since I had stopped struggling, those arms gripping my arms into noodles finally let go, nearly causing me to trip.

All of the sudden, I didn't realize why I was in the kitchen or what I was doing there, not that I could process the fact. It felt like I couldn't think about anything anymore, while the new wave of exhaustion made me feel as if I were sinking underwater. Unable to stand any longer, I let myself fall to the floor, using my knees to catch me. The dizziness in my head only grew much stronger, with my breathing turned irregular. I didn't pass out or go unconscious, but the entire room was spinning so much that I didn't try to stand back up.

Lying on the ground ready to stay down here for a lot longer, I managed to realize at least partly what was happening in the immediate moment. I never felt this mentally drained and dizzy before, but my dad and brother were both staring at me with bewildered faces, worried about what might be going on. "I don't feel like moving anymore." I didn't want to worry him, but I really couldn't move with ease. It felt like my entire body just hiked up a tall mountain with no equipment or gear. I somehow drained myself of all my energy, though not like I had before. Whatever happened that caused me to feel this way was nothing but a blur however. I only noticed it right now, that there was suddenly a very recent gap in my own memory. I remember feeling so mad earlier, but I have no idea why. I did wonder what my dad would think or say in this moment, mainly because I expected something a little atypical.

Looking at Ivan, Nigel put out the most likely suggestion he could think of, using someone to bounce ideas off of instead of trying to directly contemplate what the hell just happened. "You think that water was poisoned or something?" Reed did drink quite a lot of it not too long ago. There could be no other explanation for why he would lash out like that. And right now, all of that rage is totally gone, as if it never existed.

Of course he would think that. I knew whatever happened to me couldn't be the water. It's just too unlikely. But I wasn't surprised he came up with such a heavy conspiracy. My dad tends to do that these days, always paranoid that someone or something like our government might be out to get us. I don't care, just so long as I get to rest for a while.

But even that reward was kept from me a moment later. Without any reason why, all of the nerves and muscles in my body from head to toe tightened, and I was bombarded with a painful sensation of which I have never felt before. Unable to hide my pain, I cringed my teeth together inhaling through my teeth like a snake. The noise got their attention again, but I couldn't deal with this!

"What now?!" Nigel wasn't upset with me, but he realized something was obviously still bothering me. And whatever is going on doesn't appear to be over yet. I began cringing on the floor after having flipped myself so that my back was to the ground. My hands, arms, and legs were trembling, and my eyes were shutting tightly, unable to handle whatever pain ailed me now.

It hurts! It hurts so much!

"God da—" cutting himself off before he could take the lord's name in vain, Nigel got closer, trying to force an explanation out of me. "Where does it hurt?"

Luckily, I was still able to talk and move my mouth despite my body trembling on its own. "Everywhere!" I squealed. "Pins and needles! It feels like pins and needles everywhere!" I could barely get my voice up at this point. It really felt like someone was poking me in every possible location of my body billions of times over without end. Not one spot was exempt from this impossible pain. It wasn't bad enough to make me want to scream, but the sensation overwhelmed me. There was another symptom scaring me more than the pain alone. "I can't move!" I could feel my body trembling, but no matter how much I tried to move myself, my body just wouldn't listen to me anymore. I really couldn't move a single finger, as if I were somehow paralyzed. But I could move my head and my mouth. That was the only part of me I still had any control over. At last, I realized that something was seriously wrong here! I had no idea what this was, and it didn't look like my father understood either. Even my brother who was pissed off a second ago finally looked concerned.

"That's it," he decided. "You're going to the ER." Turning to Ivan knowing what he had to do, Nigel barked at him to move. "Come on. Get your shit. You're both going back to your mom's and she's going to have to cover the bill." Nigel knew he could not afford any medical bills, and it was already agreed that Marrie would cover everyone in emergency instances like this. Whatever I was going through looked as rough as it felt, and I hadn't the first idea what happened in the first place.

If I really can't move on my own power, this could get worse quickly. I kept trying and failing, to do something as simple as lifting my own arm, but trying to also worsened the pain of needles there stronger. I began wondering if I was going to be okay. I felt so tired, but I wasn't able to sleep while in this much pain either. Before I knew it, my dad was lifting me up with his own strength, carrying me down the stairs as me made way for the car. He really was taking me to the emergency room. And I can't do a thing to recover or to stop him either.

As my condition did not recover on its own, my dad proceeded to make the thirty minute drive to the emergency room while contacting my mom in the process, letting her know what happened to me, though explaining the symptoms didn't put either of them at ease. I couldn't blame them being just as clueless as the rest of them.

As crazy as it all was, the day for me ended without much further incident. Once I finally made it to the ER outside of the building, whatever was happening inside of my body decided to calm down. The pins and needles were still there, and trying to move my arms or legs was still difficult as if felt like someone had glued my limbs to giant wrecking balls. So I couldn't walk to the entrance on my own power despite recovering from my indirect state of paralysis.

Once I was admitted, the nurses stuck needles in me feeding me fluids, until I finally got to rest for about an hour. Upon waking up from that tiny nap I was forced into, the painful sensation I had earlier was gone. It was still harder to move my body than it should have been, but I could tell I was quickly getting stronger again. And once I was checked out one more time, I was discharged on the spot.

Everyone wanted explanations including me. The doctor relayed what information there was about this back to my parents, so I heard it first from them. Apparently, I had somehow dehydrated to a severity powerful enough to make me lash out. Based on what my father told them, the result we got back, which was nothing more than a guess, was that I was having an anxiety attack or a panic attack. Of course, they couldn't explain my other symptoms, so they blamed dehydration on that too.

I thought back to the moment as the day turned to night later on, realizing that the doctors were just as clueless as everyone else. Not that it was easy, but I finally remembered what happened to me... The way I lashed out, the way I tried to destroy everything around me, throwing things at people, screaming as if a demonic force had possessed me... There was no way such pure and violent rage would be consistent with a panic attack or an anxiety attack. I wasn't panicking or anxious, I was pissed off so much that I lost all control of myself. I didn't bother telling anyone that though.

For one, I had no idea why it happened to me in the first place. Whatever came after I calmed down, that pain and the inability to move on my own power was too scary to ignore. I worried that it could happen again, especially since I don't know what caused it in the first place. The doctors argued that my fluid levels were too low and that a heat advisory for that day was already issued. But I drank nearly a gallon of water minutes before I lost control. I don't think they were lying about the dehydration; something must have caused all of those fluids to vanish, but what?

I don't know what to call whatever episode this was. Was my dad right all along, about the water being poisoned? It may sound like a conspiracy, but I still don't have an explanation myself. I do remember wanting to have something to do, but that must have been general boredom. I don't know what to make of today, so I decided to change tactics. I'll ignore this completely, and pretend like it never happened. At least then, I can move on with my life.