Are those spots normal, are my eyes swollen or not swollen enough, why is my arm so huge, and what does that sudden twitch mean?
This is a glimpse into the life of the ever-troubled mind of the Squall. Often observed checking, rechecking and then worrying over their distinctive stomach patterns, eyes and appendages trying to figure out if they are different from other Squall and what that difference means for their health.
When a Squall detects it has a problem, and it always does, it will seek out anyone around to ask their opinion of the issue. Get a second opinion. Maybe a third or even a fourth. The problem is, most people are unable to see monsters, and it speaks in a high-pitched squeak imperceptible to humans, it is mostly ignored by those around it.
It takes that silence as confirmation of its worst fears, leaving it in a state of panic.
When studying these creatures closely, I observed that while people cannot perceive a Squall its high-pitched inquiry can cause subliminal effects on people around it by forcing others to check in on their own health.
For most, this passes quickly and without much thought other than a passing glance at a mole or a sudden heart flutter. Repeated exposure, however, can cause a cocktail of concern to brew within the mind.
I certainly experienced this myself when studying one Squall up close. The Squall was only too glad to have a sighted human to observe and I spent far to long exposed to its concerns.
As it spoke on and on, I noticed myself feeling genuinely, but only slightly, under the weather. Just a tickle in my throat and a touch of fatigue. But with the Squall nearby, that simple feeling of being slightly off became a full-blown crisis.
My mind raced. Every detail was overthought. I noticed myself sweating more than usual, and an odd muscle twitch developed. Plus, was my head always this sore? Why am I burping so much? All my symptoms rapidly ballooned in my head until I was absolutely certain I was dying.
I thanked the Squall for showing me just how "sick" I was without knowing it. I visited a doctor, bringing the Squall along as well. After a full examination and a second opinion, it was confirmed that… well, there was nothing wrong with me.
Each issue had a simple explanation, and any ailments were just greatly magnified by my own anxiety. The doctor recommended reducing the constant checks of my body and gave me some breathing exercises so I could focus on each sensation and calmly think about them.
I reminded myself that the physical feeling of being sick is just a sensation, and symptoms need not be so doom and gloom. A headache is more likely to be stress than a tumour, and a muscle ache is likely overuse rather than a rare bone disease.
By grounding myself in reality, I found I was able to compartmentalise and put away my worries. The Squall, however, could not find such peace. It left, restless and unsatisfied, desperate to seek yet another opinion, another person to help it chase the shadows of imagined symptoms, letting every minor physical sensation fuel its endless panic.
I hope I can discover a way to reduce its stress.