Ifeelmyself - Robyn Seizure

The seizure’s physicality was loud in ways sound could not catch: the tremor in her jaw, the involuntary arch of her spine, the way breath left the body in knocks rather than a tide. Inside, the clock of her thoughts ran on warped batteries. One precise, awful clarity pierced through the fog: Do not swallow your tongue—an old fear, anatomically incorrect but real in its terror. She could not move her tongue to reassure herself. She tasted copper. Her mouth drained of saliva until her lips were papery.