I feel like I am on the verge of a psychotic break. Nothing is okay right now. I don’t know why this is happening. The world isn’t real. I am not real. Everything is swirling and spinning. I’m clinging on to my sanity with every ounce of will power I have. I need to talk to someone but there’s no one to talk to. I asked my therapist to see me for an emergency session but she can’t see me til 9pm. My partner is at work. My friend L hasn’t texted me back. There’s no one else to call. Perhaps I should call a crisis hotline. This is bad. Really bad. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I don’t know I’m gonna possibly be able to drive to see my therapist later. I am not me. This is not my body. I’m having trouble remembering where I am. Every noise is too loud and it hurts and makes me wince. I need to hold on. I must hold on.
Who am I. I am brandic. It is June 2012. I am breathing. Though barely. My breath hasn’t given up on me yet. I am typing. My fingers haven’t given up on me yet.
Are other people real? Is this world real? Colors are bleeding together. Everything I look at exists in another dimension. Am I hot? Am I cold? I don’t know. I am nothing. I am fading. I am dissolving. The world punctures me. It’s chewing on my body. My torso. My head. My limbs.
Swirling, fading, what am I even doing here. Things aren’t real. The world is made of plastic. The trees, the sky. All if it. My mind is slipping and sliding from my grasp.
No brandic. You must hold on. You’ve got to hold on.
Head exploding. Pain. No. More. Waking. Nightmare. Please. Stop.