9, april 2025. 4:44PM

log no. 0409 from my mental basement.

[it's worsening, or at least that's what i assumed]

10:40AM i was reading a book.

3:54PM   i woke up from a sleep (or whatever that was)

4:00PM   i'm struggling to fathom out what's real anymore. i sleep like a dead child, unbothered by the world’s spinning only to wake with a head full of fog and limbs unsure of their belonging. the air feels too thick to breathe, and my own voice arrives with delay, as if spoken from behind glass. lately, this feeling visits me even while i eat, while i walk, while i try to be human. there’s a terrifying unhinging that happens quietly, an invisible thread snapping between where i stand and where i exist. it’s not absence, it’s something different and worse; the awareness that i should feel real and yet i don’t. i float between realms with no language to explain which is which, only the ache of being in both and neither.

maybe this is the consequence of knowing too much and of pressing too close to the edge of things we were never meant to touch.