L’appel du Vide

Yesterday, my day was comprised of authoritarian voices telling me not to step outside, that the rain was acid, I would burn alive. There’s acid in the food, don’t eat the food, they all know…

I am in a movie, a film. I have already died, most likely. The room is very quiet. Mourning and silence suffocate the air around us.

The film focuses around the last few hours of my life, before I am brutally murdered, or before I have taken my own life. Within these last few hours, major changes occur. Changes that could have severely reconstructed my life, had I not died. In the end, what a shame it was that death had taken me so soon; if I had only been alive just one more day, my entire human purpose and outlook would have shifted for the better.

Sometimes, I am replaying my final hours from the grave, displaying the cynosure of the plot to my audience (or perhaps only to myself).

Often, I feel as if something is wrong during my final hours, though my innate sense of danger is marred from depression, or the like. There is frequently a soundtrack that plays in my head to go along with whatever scene is happening at the moment.

When I was younger, I thought that I just had a very vivid imagination and that I was just a natural born raconteur. Which is all fine and well, until it began to really control me. It would get to be overwhelming. I would feel as if I was stuck inside of a snow globe- sometimes for days at a time. It’s similar to the feeling you get after you’ve seen a phenomenal action film, and you feel as if you’re IN the film for a couple hours afterwards… does that happen to anyone else? I call it Film Dysphoria. Perhaps it stems from feeling that I am constantly being watched.

Which reminds me, when I was a teenager, I was absolutely convinced that any home I went into, there was hidden cameras.

I would search and search relentlessly for the cameras. I became so uncomfortable that I would refuse to go into rooms alone. Every now and then, I’ll still have the feeling, but it’s not ruling me.

I think I’ve mentioned this before… whenever I have night mares that I can’t wake up from, I kill myself in the dream. Sometimes, I feel as if I’m dreaming when the dysphoria becomes unbearable. I have fleeting thoughts of, “What if I kill myself to wake up?” This is a very genuine thought in the moment, I’m sorry to say. It scares me.

L’appel du Vide.


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