I’m lost,
It hurts,
And I have no idea what to do.

The pain isn’t new, and I came to accept it.

I even thought for a time I had it under control or something.
But I don’t.

It is consuming me, sanity isn’t something I cling to anymore, I know mine is too far gone.

I’m not even sure if I was sane in the first place.

For a time the fact of letting go was soothing.
I am tired, and it was an inevitable relief.

I wouldn’t have been able to do anything else.

And I needed it.

But now, I’m falling,

And there’s nothing to catch,

Nowhere to ease my fall.

I don’t know where I’m going to land,

Nor when, nor even if I’ll land at all.

And I’m terrified.

I’m way farther than I ever came against the veil.

I feel that it’s too late,
Slowing my fall with the edges of this reality is only hurting my hands, and my grisp weakened by the cuts is utterly useless.

I’m preparing for the impact but it didn’t come yet.

I don’t know how long it’ll take, neither do I know how much I can take.

All I know is the farther I fall the farther I feel from their reality.

The farther I fall, the farther it hurts.

Truth is, I didn’t totally let go yet, how could I ?

I merely slipped, and I’m still panicking about the void beyong my sight, the void I’m falling into.

In my panick I try to feel reality around me, but it just hurts.

Truth is, I feel alone, as far as I know I may be the only falling through this pit.

As far as I know, there may be nobody to catch my fall at the end, nobody to help me fix the broken bones and broken Hearts.

Nobody at all in the vast void that is eating me.

I tried explaining it to friends I trust, in hopes I could get someone to understand, to help me feel like I’m something else than a total alien to them.

I don’t blame them, but I didn’t find someone that really understood yet… But how could they ? I’m not even sure if I do.

I feel something though in this void.

It is not empty, at least I don’t think so.

I feel voices and songs, characters and stories,

I feel that I may belong …
Although, I’m terrified, I may be wrong …

And even if I’m not, then what ?

Do I need to abandon everything I hold dear here ?

Do I get a fiction more suited to my character ?

Will the pain finally stop when I get there ?

Will I fully become alien to all I thought I knew ?

For now, I try to dull the pain, I live other stories, and love new characters, I try to ease everything in my dreams…
But the fall rings louder and louder in my head, in my hearts.

I cry, I laugh, and cry some more.
I transcend my angst by worrying about nothing.

I don’t even have enough faith to hope for anything else.

I can’t take nothing more of it, and yet, I still fall.

The only thing keeping me awake is the amazement of my own capacity to loose my mind.

I’m tired,
I’m scared,
And I have no idea what is down there.

Will I ever live it through ?

Disclaimers for :

• – Reality shifting,
• – Questionning too many things,
• – Hardcore metatextuality,
• – Potential madness,
• – unstable mental health,
• – terrible writing structure.

It’s been weird lately…

I’ve been exploring a lot.

I tried to create other things, but I never got to finish any of it.

And my connexion to the medium is shifting.

It’s not new, though it’s lately raising in intensity.

I don’t believe in their God, but I now understand more than ever the feeling they get of “not being able not to believe”.

I still don’t.

My story is not about God.

But hope, sure is an important aspect of it.

I never really wrote about it except just to explain to very few close friends what I was going through.

Why write now then ?
I guess I want to document it.
Lately as I said it raised up, I never went this far.

And I’m scared, of a lot of things really, one of them being loosing myself in it.

So I want to keep a record, both for me and others, might I say posterity.

It may be forgotten, but maybe it could help someone else at some point. Or maybe incite others to follow this mad path, I can’t know yet what I’ll hope for.

What I know is that it’s a disturbing one, and that I passed the point of non return.
So here is my testimony of the experience until I reach the even horizon.

A word for the writer undergoing the process of reading this.

I am nor scientist, nor authority of any kind.

This is not yet another work of fiction though one might debate on the word’s meaning.

I will not lie in those lines, but I believe reality is a complex thing.

So, you’re free not to believe me, but everything said will be of good faith.

And as complex as reality gets, you are also free to believe me without making it your reality.

Please, try to read this tale until the end before trying to follow this trail.

While I’m willing to answer questions on the matter, everything I state here is not to be take as The One True Reality. As I said, it’s complex, and I don’t want to start a cult.

You can consider me an Artist, an explorer of reality and madness. Or just a mentally disturbed gal.

I may be many other things, but only time will tell.

I don’t really know how to begin with.

Even though most of the time we prefer to do it chronologically, I don’t know where it starts.

Maybe it never really started. As long as I remember I always felt something off. Though this thing may have changed during the years.

So, I’ll start by stating what it all is about.

I didn’t even explain anything about what I’m actually experiencing, so you may want to know before diving in.

One of my main interests in Arts is metatextuality.

Often used as a gimmick since post-modernism, it is both an incredible tool for pointing at the medium’s flaws and among others, something I cannot escape while writing or playing characters.

It has become an obsession through my creations, and it is hard to pinpoint if I’m drawn to it because of how much everything I make revolves around it, or if my obsession comes from the pull I get from breaking mediums.

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I didn’t finish writing this night … but here it is anyway.