I’m perhaps average crazy. Perhaps in remission.
Yesterday I closed my eyes & felt my teeth scraping the concrete until they were all ripped from my mouth. But when I peeled back my lids, I peeled back into reality.
When I was younger I starved myself for truly no reason.
He’s afraid of his brain–& reasonably so. He wakes sometimes & yet continues dreaming. I wouldn’t have liked to inherit my mother’s brain either.
It’s that borderline between sleep & waking life. For in our sleep we all have delusions of grandeur. In our sleep we hallucinate & awake we all engage in self-harm.
There are lies I’ve told myself often enough to make them true. To make the truth an untruth.
If perception is not reality, there is no reality.
Sometimes one has to go along with it. Sometimes one has to escape. I wonder if we are all faking it.
In the end, it’s all in how we manifest our necessarily self-centered worldviews. Each of us a microcosm, each of us constructing reality in our own eyes, ears, mouths. Depression, anxiety, we wonder if others see us how we see ourselves.
But a spark of trauma, a disassociation, an underlying profusion of dopamine, can create a cascade of impossibility. I suppose it’s whether or not we realize our truth is just that—our truth. For we all have our own. Nothing is real.