Not Real

I’m not real. How can I be real? I only exist in this tiny bubble that seems to grow smaller every day. If my reality is based on my human connections, then I barely exist. Things are blurring in my head; I can’t trust anything that I’m thinking. It’s probably all made up; something I’ve fabricated, or someone else. My memories are me just remembering the last time I remembered the thing so they’re lies. It’s not real. Nothing exists, everything we see is a lie, colour is a lie, my memories are false, my body is faking sensations to try and wake me up, or put me to sleep, I don’t know.

I’m afraid.



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