Carry me...

There are times, I fear, that I suffer an odd affliction. Only a sensation, oddly; yet it that it should disturb me more than any illness I scarcely know why. The consciousness quakes, even for the simple cause of such a sensation. Though I mostly dare not speak of it, lest I be considered vain or fanciful. I have discovered it near impossible to watch acts of physical torture without reflecting a sensation of torture myself. The condition has improved, however slightly; for years I could not even bear to see such material in writing. Yet even today such a  physical response would arise in my flesh that it was at times unfathomable, as if my corpse were trying to unsuccessfully attempt severe agony, and instead relinquish to throes of sickness. The tremors which seem to imitate rushing blood under the skin of my bony wrists; they disgust me for their lack of disguise for I know my heart has not increased in tempo. The quiver of flesh falls shy to the sensation of rending, yet it persists until I desire to rend with my own human claws. There have been moments when the affected locale extends to other areas of my body represented in film. Thus it becomes even more of a torment than I am able to comprehend. I never scream for fear of embarrassment and ridicule. My plan usually consists of no more than averting my gaze from the picture, and applying pressure to stop the rushing. I still cannot say why exactly I experience the affliction, only theorize. Perhaps it is a psychosomatic symptom relating to a different matter regarding my psyche; perhaps it is my device to never allow my  own desensitization towards humanity, or even far-lost memories acquired from long before my infancy. Whatever the cause, the only option is to try and live reasonably. My only fear lies in its ability to control me.