Sometimes I shake myself out of a reverie I didn’t even know I was in – an extended state in which I continue to function, to go through life without actually being aware that I… am. I am alive. That I exist. That what I’m doing, what is happening to me, is actually really happening. It’s not nice.
It’s unpleasant, suddenly becoming excruciatingly aware that I’m an actual person with thoughts, doing actions that have consequences, thinking thoughts that have repercussions, that will eventually all lead nowhere, like one giant round in the hamster wheel of life. What then makes it worse is the immediate realization that what you just felt is also real. It wasn’t just a bad dream of self-awareness and reality. You’re in the dream, and you’re going to be stuck there for a while. And then it happens again and again, a miserable looping feedback mechanism of realization and despair, of revelation and helplessness, that eventually fades, only to hit me again when I least expect it, making me sway on the spot and mutter “oh no…”, to the minor confusion of those around me.
What can one then do but mournfully, balefully exist.