This is not pain. This is an entirely different experience on its own. 
     I’m sitting down in the living room, ironically, since I don’t feel like I’m living at all. The TV is on, but only at a very low volume. Sound is amplified, so every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a megaphone. My brother is in the kitchen and even though I’m not looking at him, I know everything that he’s doing. 
     I can hear him. 
     He opens the pantry door. The hinges squeak at maximum decibels. 
     He grabs a bag of chips packaged in an obnoxiously loud bag, which were incidentally manufactured with the sole purpose of pissing me the fuck off. 
     The pantry door closes and when it does, it sounds as if it was slammed with an ogre-esque force. I’m convinced the door must be broken after being slammed so violently. 
     My brother grips each side of the bag of chips and it screams underneath the grasp of his fingers. The top of the bag splits open, and after the bag screeches from being ripped apart, I feel an immense wave of relief crash over me knowing that the worst of the noise pollution is over. 
     Then come the footsteps. 
     Someone is walking down the stairs with 300+ lb. shoes on and I’m wincing at the sound of every step. All fourteen steps and I’m counting each of them and can’t wait until they’re finished.
     Unfortunately, they’ve decided to move in slow motion and I’m cringing against the couch, blanket now over my head, as I’m forced to listen to what sounds like fourteen gunshots. 
     Step.  
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step.  
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     
     My body feels sick: I’m dizzy, nauseas, freezing, having cold sweats, and my head is pounding. 
     My head is literally pounding. 
     
     This is not even the half of it.