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I’ve been seriously struggling with “existing in reality” - I’m not sure how else to phrase it - for about a month now (according to my journal). I think it’s a conscious choice, this trying to not “exist in reality” - past, present, and/or possible future realities - but I’m not really entirely sure.
What follows is my attempt to “explain” what it feels like when I do try to “exist in reality”. I’m wondering if this makes sense to anyone, or if I sound as crazy as I feel. Im also starting to have a few moments of conscious thought that maybe my continuing to not “exist in reality” might be an “issue”. Is “rabbit-holing” ok? Does it need to stop? What is coping and what is detrimental? Is there a line? How do you see the line?
Curious if anyone has “been there/here” and “gotten out”…and if so, how???And so many more questions…I’m lost in confusion; my thoughts in a knot. […i need “help”… ]
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“Rabbit-holing” - that’s what I call it. I find some banal, unimportant, non-responsibility bearing task, and dive in. I dive deep as possible, becoming fully and completely invested in not “existing in reality”; entirely immersed in some space where even the air I breathe is different and separate from that which “exists in reality”. If I don’t rabbit-hole, then...then what? I don't know. I don't know because im too scared to do it. I need to run to stop. Not reality. Rabit-hole. My savior. My existence depends on it. I get frantic. I lose words. I can't breathe. I try to describe to explain to even just get one word out, but I can't. The more I try, the more tight, the more narrow, the more black, the further away everything gets. I'm scared I'll get lost and never come back. Catatonic. But frantic, thrashing, screaming motionless and silent. Something chases me in my head. If I look for words, the closer I get to one, the further, faster, harder it pushes, chases, forces. Words are not allowed. Existing in reality is not allowed. I feel it in my bones that it's not allowed. But I don't know why. And, if I try to reflect on why, I can't breathe, my throat closes, my eyes shut tight, the something chases and pushes and pushes and pushes me closer to the edge. And If I fall off the edge...I can't think of what happens if I fall of the edge. I do try to fight now and again, if I can muster then energy, the bravery, the wherewithal. I shake my head to knock it off balance in a desperate effort to grasp a word or a breath, but it retaliates. It pierces me with its pointed, sharp eyes, paralyzes me, and instead of me knocking it off balance for a fraction of a second, it rages. It grows physically - a greater mass and a larger, bigger, wider, thicker field of force. It roars. It's force grows and that force pushes at me harder. It pushes me faster and closer to the edge. To save myself, I must cease existing in reality. I must cease to exist entirely - even if a spec of me is left, it is too dangerous; not safe.
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Muchas gracias para ustedes escucharme.
— lemonSys
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“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”
— John Milton, Paradise Lost
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