Two weeks later, Jacob was untouchable.The grey weight that had pinned him to his mattress evaporated almost overnight. It always happened like this—without warning, without permission. One morning he simply knew he didn’t need to lie in bed anymore. He didn’t need rest. He didn’t need Emily checking in. He didn’t need anyone.
His mind clicked into high gear, sharp and alive. His body buzzed, his hands trembled—not from weakness, but from anticipation. He didn’t know what was coming, but he knew it would be huge.
The colours outside were too bright, almost electric. Music pulsed through his headphones, but he could still hear the rhythm of the world underneath—the hum of power lines, the faint thud of distant footsteps syncing to his heartbeat. It was all connected. He was connected.
Jacob stormed through the apartment, throwing open drawers, collecting notebooks, markers, and an old half-broken laptop. Ideas came faster than he could write them down. A new business. A podcast. A documentary about mental health that would change the world. He would fix it. All of it. His story, his disease—it wasn’t a curse. It was a key.
By noon, he’d called five old friends, including Sofia.
“I’ve figured it out,” he said, words racing out of him, barely breathing between sentences. “I know how to make it all work. I need your help. We’re starting today.”
She hesitated on the other end. “Jacob, are you sure you’re—”
“Don’t do that,” he snapped, suddenly sharp. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not— I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ve never been better,” he said, and hung up before she could say anything else.
The money in his bank account didn’t matter. The fact that he hadn’t worked in months didn’t matter. He wasn’t thinking in details—he was thinking in revolutions. He drove across the city, burned through gas he couldn’t afford, bought whiteboards, microphones, and a new phone on credit.
His mind jumped between projects, unable to settle. He couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t. Sleep was for people without vision.
By midnight, his apartment was littered with pages, diagrams, coffee cups, and receipts. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might split open.
He filmed a video, a manifesto, pouring out his truth to anyone who would listen. The words felt profound—urgent, poetic, brilliant.
He posted it to every platform he could. Within an hour, it had a few dozen likes. That wasn’t enough. People had to hear him. They had to know.
His phone buzzed. Emily.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again. And again.
Finally, he answered. “Em, I’m on the edge of something big. You need to trust me.”
Her voice was small, tired. “Jacob… are you taking your meds?”
He laughed. “No. I don’t need them. I’m fine. More than fine.”
“Jake, please. You know where this leads.”
“Not this time,” he promised, a wild light in his eyes. “I’ve figured it out. I’m finally in control.”
But the thing about the ascent—it always looks like flying, right up until the fall.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
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