I am no longer in control of my body. My legs, strong and muscled, are not mine. My hands have memorized every action they must take, and no longer need me to guide them. My blood, my bones, they belong to someone else, and I watch from above. I am separate. I am alone.
It was not always this way. I know my body used to be my own. My movements followed my own intent, my actions were of my own design. But that is lost to me now, lost in a place I cannot find. Even my mind does not belong to me. It is as if I am trapped between wakefulness and sleep, half in this world and half in dreams. My thoughts, my emotions, they are someone else’s. There are moments when they feel like mine. They are hot, red, blinding. That is the only time I feel in control. The only time I can see through my own eyes.
But sometimes I don’t see through my own eyes. Sometimes, when I watch from above, I see this man I call Me, this man full of anger, and I wonder who he is. Perhaps I should feel sorry for him. Perhaps I should hate him. But I feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
It was not always this way. I know my body used to be my own. My movements followed my own intent, my actions were of my own design. But that is lost to me now, lost in a place I cannot find. Even my mind does not belong to me. It is as if I am trapped between wakefulness and sleep, half in this world and half in dreams. My thoughts, my emotions, they are someone else’s. There are moments when they feel like mine. They are hot, red, blinding. That is the only time I feel in control. The only time I can see through my own eyes.
But sometimes I don’t see through my own eyes. Sometimes, when I watch from above, I see this man I call Me, this man full of anger, and I wonder who he is. Perhaps I should feel sorry for him. Perhaps I should hate him. But I feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
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