I stare and stare at the rows of text, but I cannot comprehend what it says anymore. Who knows what it means when the textbook tortures me with questions like “is zinc a trace element?” and “how does fluoride prevent tooth decay?” I close the textbook. A hollow thud resonates through the pages into my fingertips, all the way into the depths of my skull. It hurts. The vibrations create a dizzying effect on my vision. I see colors that weren’t there before. Beautiful colors, really. It’s a shame that it hurts so much.

I have no time to lose. It’s 2:41 AM and there’s a biology quiz tomorrow. Maybe it’s a quiz today, given that it’s past midnight. I pull at my hair. There’s a quiz today that I cannot fail. If I were to fail this quiz, my biology grade would fall along with my GPA. I wouldn’t get accepted into a good college and no one would hire me when I get older. I would be a failure. I could die today wishing I would not fail this quiz.

Or will I? Will I die, my last thought being about something as...as insignificant as a quiz? The question gives me a headache. I can’t think anymore. Can’t be bothered. Opening the textbook again, my eyes slowly adjust to the fine print underneath my table lamp.

I stop trying to understand the textbook. I focus on memorizing it. I stuff the words primary structure, tertiary structure, and lipids into my empty brain. It doesn’t feel any more full than before. My stomach starts to gnaw at my consciousness from within. It begs for nutrition. It hurts. I decided that I should take care of myself. Then, changing my mind, I decided I should take care of my future first. A wild confusion sets in, and I force myself to weigh the two options again. Should I give in and allow myself fleeting happiness? Or should I save this happiness for later? My future is more important than the pain I feel now, right?

My soul crumples and I relent to the gnawing.

I stumble out of my chair and into the kitchen. I cook an egg. I watch the oil fry and bubble around its transparent white. The oil boils and pops, the noise drilling screws into my skull. The protein of the egg white trembles. It can’t take the heat anymore. The primary structure of the protein is disturbed; it quivers. The oil continues to heat. The protein, the beautiful twisted structure of the protein, falls apart. It unravels. The egg white is solid, opaque, and worthy. A success. It’s strong now that it’s been heated through and through.

I stare, transfixed—burning the egg. I don’t know if I wanted to do that, but it’s still beautiful nonetheless. I eat it right out of the pan. It slides so easily from the pan to my throat, burning my tongue, heating it through and through. It hurts but I feel better now. I grip the hot handle. It scorches my skin. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts. Everything hurts so much. Too much. Everything feels worse when it hurts. Everything feels better when it hurts. Tears come to my eyes. I can’t take this anymore.

I unravel.