I can't piece words together, not in any eloquent way, anyway. It's like my brain was suddenly told to move as slowly as frozen molasses in the middle of winter. I try grasping for words, for concepts, but they float away, slipping through my fingers. But for some reason, just about everything is hilarious, until you tell me to shut up. Then my brain completely shuts down.
My skin is clammy, crawling. My body feels like it's encased in a million tons of lead. My very essence, however, feels lighter than air, like if someone just gentle blew on me, I'd float away. I guess that's where the heavy armor comes in, otherwise I might ride away on a gentle breeze.
My heart thuds in my chest like I've been running a marathon. It vibrates my rib cage, trying to leap out.
My hands tremble as if every movement I make could be the decision between life and death. Between the trembling and the clammy hands, I can't open anything. Whoever thought up those safety seals for the liquid glucose drinks obviously never tested these things with people who were low. I mean, I can barely get them open half the time without the help of sharp objects when I'm normal.
My body just wants to slouch and fall over, its weight becoming too much.
The thought of food makes me sick, but I shove it in as fast as I can. It's pure panic. I can't taste anything, but I get the texture. And yes, chalky isn't just a flavor.
Slowly, surely, my body begins to feel real again. I feel myself settling back into my body, my heart slowing, my muscles strengthening, my mind clearing. Words that were no where near on the tip of my tongue are starting to come easily. There's warmth in my hands, which are shaking less than before. I can finally hold a glass of liquid without spilling it everywhere. I can taste what I ate before. Oh god, why did I think that was a wise food combination.
I feel hungover, at least, people tell me this is what a hangover feels like. I feel exhausted, like I ran that marathon my heart thought we were running, but without moving an inch.
My hands, my fingers...it still feels like someone else is moving them, my body not quite my own again. While the words come more easily, while I can communicate more or less what I mean, there is no character to what I say. My clothes are soaked from sweat, my hair also damp.
My body slowly comes to rest at normal, my mind always reaching "normal" last.