Human A (sobbing): The world is too loud and everything hurts and I'M BADLY OVERSTIMULATED.
Human B: I can bring you a beer?
Human A: I'm out of beer.
Human B: I have beer.
Human A: Your beer tastes like shit. -- Anon Guest
"Doesn't all beer taste like shit though?" Argued Human Barb. "We don't drink it for the flakking taste anyway."
"I still have enough to deal with without your disasterous idea of a good beer," countered Human Ari. "Take mercy on me. I'm almost at cracking."
"Okay, okay. Options. One: my beer. Definite nope. Two: The tail section hooch." Barb only needed one look at Ari's expression to figure out that answer. "Also no. Three: the Quiet Room."
"That's for emergencies," said Ari.
"You're almost at cracking and you're out of beer. It's a preventative measure at this point. C'mon. Do what you can to cope and I'll lead you there."
Eyes tight shut, humming furiously with hands over her ears, Ari trusted her elbow to Barb. Emotionally, it was a long trip, feeling every step forward anyway because paranoia was a natural side-effect of these episodes. Feeling Barb's gentle fingers petting her skin in a soothing way.
Then, the tap on her shoulder that meant they were there.
Barb had already set the Quiet Room to Meditative Nebula, and put the audio track onto a binaural relaxation ur-melody that played at a low volume. He even guided Ari into the beanbag designed not to rustle.
"Oooh, yeah," Ari sighed. "That's the stuff."
"You want me to sit with, or are you gonna be okay on your own?"
Ari took a couple of deep breaths. "I think I got it. Thanks."
Barb gave her a friendly punch to the arm. "I'll even go order you some more of your beer."
[Photo by BENCE BOROS on Unsplash]
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