Thicker than Water: A Memoir

by Kerry Washington

Lying in bed, I would race to fall asleep before the sounds would leak from my bones. I would force myself to try to have “good” thoughts. I hated that the rhythm came from within me. I hated that my own brain was not to be trusted. If I lost the race to sleep and got caught by the rhythm, I had no tools to escape it, no way of controlling my own brain as it conspired against me. I tried everything to avoid it. If I could sense it coming on, from deep within my cells, I would try to sing a song, or recite a poem, or do anything I could think of to simply turn my brain off. But it would take hold in my fascia, then work outward through my muscles and tendons. Sometimes, I would rock my body back and forth, vibrating, rattling, trying to drown out the pulsing noise and regain control of my body. Sometimes I would put my head under a pillow, trying to ignore the fact that the torture was coming from within me. But only exhaustion would override the rhythm, lulling me to the dream state beyond my fears. I would fight the haunting rhythm as it rose in me, often having to compete with my parents’ fights in the next room. If my inner rhythm won, I was tortured by the tempo of my own obsessive brain; if my parents’ arguing won, I was trapped by fear. One night around that time, I hurled the pillow to the ground in frustration. I knew that my job was to hide, to stay in my room and pretend that this was not happening—I understood that they were only fighting because they believed t...