I laugh. I laugh as hard as I can, until I cry. I laugh until there are tears pouring down my face, and there is a puddle underneath me. And then my shoulder flies out of control, and the knife goes with it. I twitch to the side, and the knife goes flying into my wall. There it stays, stuck still.
I continue to convulse, my shoulder becomes it’s own entity, moving separately from the rest of my body. I hurriedly grab my pills and, spilling them on the floor, manage to put two in my mouth.
Minutes pass and the seizure has stopped.
I concentrate on the knife. I force all of my brain power onto it, and am rewarded with nothing but a headache.
I can’t do it.
I can never reach my full potential.