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Within and Out[]

It’s no secret I’ve been losing my grip on reality. Everyone knows it, really. My roommate, my mother, the woman that was looking at me in the grocery store. Everyone sees it. I can’t keep my eyes focused, I ramble when I speak, and it feels like I’m close to something. It’s becoming a burden to hide that I’ve been slipping. I was the last to know how far I’ve fallen off.

For a while, I figured it was growing pains, mental illness runs rampant in my family, but most of us keep it under wraps or maybe tattered blankets. My aunts and uncles all have their angry outbursts and subtly reveal their belief in conspiracies during holidays, but I believe I’ve got the short end of the stick. My delusions keep proving themselves right.

I was taking a shower days ago, and in the bath tiles I was given a beautiful image of a cosmic entity floating through the pillars of space. It had a woman’s face with a large white growth on its forehead, no neck, no body, only cosmic clouds and its feminine face. I thought it was an angel, of sorts, then my reasoning came in knock, knock, knocking: the human brain is simply making up something from nothing—pulling together patterns from something patternless to make better sense of the world, that is what it must’ve been, one would think?

It visited me in my sleep and it spoke in utterances I couldn’t understand. It spoke the language of the cosmos: utter, eardrum shattering silence. Yet I felt an intent. An intent for connection, maybe? Something it wanted to give me? Something it wanted me to know? It showed me a blackness I never felt before, an emptiness you could smell. It showed me the universe. The vast nothing, spun into something. It showed me myself as a link in a chain. Had I been removed the link of reality would be broken. Had anything been removed. It showed me my significance. Our significance. I am a stitch in the fabric of reality, my matter cannot be destroyed and I will forever linger.

This entity gave me a scientific truth and it’s destroying me. In no words it gave me thousands of allegories, millions of metaphors and it boils down to the same thing. We are here and we cannot be removed. My definition of myself is a moment, a conjunction of being that will one day shift and reconstruct anew, my energy devoured by fungus, all nutrients reabsorbed into carbon slurry. I had to exist in order for this universe to be itself. You had to exist in order for this universe to be itself. Whatever we become has to be in order for the universe to be. This is the intent I received.

I’m falling apart.

And by this entropy the universe is upheld.

And I still can’t do it.

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