Everything is About Them and Everything is Outside of Them

I’m drifting in a sinking boat. I don’t know how to swim, and I don’t weigh enough to reach the bottom. I’m living under the influence of the unusual dreams I had last night, and my head feels like a ton of numb concrete. I didn’t take my medication today because I was too lazy to reach for them from the top of the cupboard. The texture-worn, yellowed cushions of the chairs I’ve sat in for long periods now have asymmetrical indentations, where the cats are sleeping. One has turned a white chair black, and the other has transformed the chair into a paradise with its small body. I take great pleasure in watching its left paw tremble as it dreams, and waking it up never crosses my mind. Perhaps now, in its dream, it’s riding on the back of a larger animal, shouting in a secret language they’ve made up to make it go faster. I will, of course, fall asleep again at a very late hour, probably near dawn, but I’m trying to break this habit.

I stand up in the sinking boat—I know how to swim very well because I’ve sunk many times before. I’ve already pushed everyone out of my life who had the power to save me. To show that I didn’t need them, I often did foolish things, but these weren’t silly or childish actions. I did things that were more terrifying and absurd, turning myself into a horrible jester. I played my role so well that it seemed they had no choice but to believe me, as if I had forced them to sit in front of a theater stage. I don’t have the stomach to recount the things I acted out now. Yet, I am weakened enough to believe that there might be hope, to think that they could save me. I’m struggling to stay on my feet and I know that I need to rest, to let the current take me.

August, 2024

by Demon Ego