A musical appearance

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But besides the sleepless nights, I was doing well. No one knew about those, I never had that breathing problem during the day for some reason. The only thing I did differently was that I kept sleepovers to a minimum, which wasn't too hard, considering my many many friends (meaning very very few). I kept going on with my life as usual. 

But life has a way of throwing something at you when you least expect it.

* * * * *

April 1st, 2017


A feeling in my throat. In my vocal cords, to be exact. It feels vaguely familiar, but not in a good way. I run my hand through my messy hair, trying to detangle it. I hate it when I have messy hair or any kind of a mess, but I didn't sleep during the night and woke up ten minutes past the time I was supposed to leave for choir practice.

"You ok?"

I look to my left to see Diane with a perplexed look on her face. I realize how creepy I must've looked while thinking about this feeling that is becoming more and more intense. My hands in my hair and gazing off into the distance.

I cough, hoping that will fix it. It doesn't work.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, faking a smile. "I was just thinking about something "

"Wha-"

"Ladies, stop chit-chatting over there!" says Mr. Smith, our choir conductor.

For once I am grateful for an observation. Yes, the whole choir is looking at me now, but at least Diane didn't have time to finish the question.

We start with a vocal warm-up. Ascending from a very low sound to the highest one we can. First legato, then staccato. I hit a high sound and suddenly the feeling in my throat is gone. Relieved, I continue singing, grateful it wasn't something else.  But as the first sheet of music is being handed over, the feeling comes back, stronger this time. I gingerly let out a high pitched sound and it goes away. Diane looks at me strangely and I unsuccessfully try to mask it as a cough.

That's why it comes back. That's why only one action satisfies it. That's why it's familiar.

It's another tic.

I want to scream and punch the floor ad cry at the same time. 

Instead, I plaster a fake smile on my face and continue singing, hoping and reaching for every high sound, dreading the moment I have to stop. 

* * *

The morning's supposed

To bring that relief.

Instead, it is worse.

It's not what I need.

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