I am not real

March 4, 2025

I am not real. I feel myself phasing in and out. I get pulled back, pulled into myself. I see almost daylight flash and beam around my black outline. I’m pulled deeper. I feel a fuzzy unfeeling; it’s slightly warm. Is that just my body? Is it my own warmth? Was that my own light?

I feel dazed and blurred. Time pulls me forward and I leave the wake to swirl behind me. I’m trying to understand time and the events of the day, but the pieces won’t fall together. Did I go to class today? I have vague memories; I see a snippet; yes, I went to class. What did I even do today? It’s 6pm and I can’t be sure of where the hours went.

I guess the hours are mostly accounted for. Why do they still feel so foreign?

My sleep has only gotten worse. I’ve been waking up too easily. See, there’s two parts to sleeping: the falling asleep part and the waking up part. You’re only allowed to be unusual in one part at a time. Suppose you have someone who struggles to fall asleep but sleeps and wakes up normally. Well, that’s unfortunate, but it’s not really a concern. Further, suppose you have someone who falls asleep nicely, but wakes up unusually. They might chalk it up to age or sleep apnea, but nevertheless, it’s not a concern. However, if you have someone who can’t fall asleep, but wakes up early and without protest? That’s dangerous.

It feels as though I’ve shifted in my pursuit of sleep. I have crossed the line from “can’t” to “won’t.” I feel myself protesting sleep more and more. I dance on the line of just how much sleep do I need.

Still, I am a ghost in this body. This body doesn’t feel like mine. Like I said, I phase in and out. I feel pulled back into this body. It looks and feels like looking at the mouth of a cave from inside and further down the cave. I hiked the natural entrance of Carlsbad Caverns once. It’s 1.25mi long and you drop 750ft into the earth. At one point, when we were about a quarter of the way down, I looked back up at the mouth and felt a very specific feeling. I felt the cool darkness of the cave breathing on my back and the expansive sky just out of reach with the last remaining drops of sunlight trickling in. Anyhow, it feels like that, pulled into the darkness with the rest of the world just out of reach. It’s warm here, I feel fuzzy nothingness. I wish I could drift further back into this cave. The fuzzy nothingness pulls on me. I am too tethered to this body, but I must remain. I should work to pull myself back to the surface, to pull myself out of this well. I see the rope, but I don’t climb. I am too tired for what is required to pull myself out. But what is there for me back in that body? More depression? More anxiety? More, more, more. No. I’ll sit at the bottom of the well here. Afterall, it’s warm here.