TRIGGER WARNING: strong language, depersonalization/derealization

2. Fracture.

When you say you don’t feel like your hands are yours, what do you mean by that?

Early spring, 2016. Eliseo Miles looks at his hands when he starts to feel weird about life and existing and all that dumb shit. When he has a miniature existential crisis, which only happens sometimes on Sunday nights, with the bedside lamp still on, the air polluted with the burden of the last seven days and the even heavier burden of the seven days to come, he listens to Drake and looks at his hands. 

He doesn’t really like Drake and he isn’t even sure if he really likes girls, but it makes him feel more normal to be pissed and upset at a girl that never existed because Drake is pissed and upset at a girl that probably did exist. 

It is 2016, and getting sad to Drake is the most manly thing that Eliseo Miles can do. Eliseo is looking at his hands and they aren’t his. 

Try going a month without looking at your face. Go to a mirror and get really close to it, take your glasses off, get closer, until your breath fogs up the glass, and look yourself in the eyes like you were meeting them for the first time. Stare for a good while because everyone needs to have an Eliseo Miles identity crisis at least once in their lifetime. Gaze deep into the stalking black abyss of your pupils, try to make out the face of that voice narrating your thoughts, and ask yourself, 

“am I really in this motherfucker?”

What does your reflection tell you about who you are?

This humid and uneventful Sunday night, Eliseo is staring at a spoon, or at least that’s what you would think looking at the angsty, bored teenage boy on the couch, head propped on the arm rest, twisting the spoon back and forth in the air, probably thinking about girls. That's what anyone with eyes that aren’t his would see. 

Eliseo is studying the distorted reflection of his face on the back of it, moving it back and forth to make his features twist in and out of proportion. “Marvin’s Room” by Drake is playing on repeat in the back of his mind, but it isn’t a girl that he is thinking about. He is coming to the crushing realization that this reflection looks more like Eliseo than any other reflection of himself that he’s seen. It has no specific shape or characteristic. It can not see or hear or smell because it has no definite eyes or ears or nose. It can’t be defined. It just experiences things. 

It doesn’t exist to anything or anyone but itself, and Eliseo is satisfied with that.

Do you feel like Eliseo is someone you are, or someone you’re watching?

Eliseo does not remember.