I've been drifting off lately..I'll be sitting watching television or reading a book and without realizing it's happened I'm somewhere else... It's never the same place, sometimes it's dark, lonely, quiet...sometimes it's filled with color and light and laughter...sometimes I'm underwater but completely at peace..and then again without warning I snap back to my tv, my book.  It's been happening so often I'm beginning to wonder which reality is my actual physical reality and which is just a construct of my mind. It is extremely disconcerting, as I'm typing this it's happened twice...and every time I go somewhere else I always return exhausted, like I just ran a marathon. Reminds me of the holographic theory, does anything even exist when we are not observing it? If a tree falls in the forrest and there's no one there to hear it does it make a sound? What if there is no tree, or forrest for that matter, when no one is there to see it.  What is real, what isn't. I find myself more and more questioning the events of my life. Are all my memories real? Did all of those things, good and bad that shaped my life really happen? Do I have pleasant memories of someone who never existed.... During the times when my insomnia was at it's worst and going a week without sleep was commonplace, I would regularly lose days, completely wiped from my memory. Likewise on my pill, cocaine and whiskey fueled benders that dominated my youth, there are so many big chunks of time unaccounted for. Did my mind fill in those gaps with people and places that never were? The longer I spend alone, the more doubt creeps in. The more I feel that maybe I truly am alone. As the famous poem says, everything I see or seem is but a dream within a dream..which I may or may not have come up with depending on whether or not Edgar Allan Poe ever existed at all. Ironically the only thing that keeps me grounded in this particular reality is pain, which I don't understand why if I created this world I would inflict on my body and psyche so much pain.  Maybe knowing nothing is real contributed to my reckless behavior all my life, allowing me to do all the things I did without fear of retribution.  In my teens transporting literal tons of illicit drugs across multiple state lines, sometimes driving it myself and sometimes as a follow car ready to collide with any police vehicle who thought to stop the loaded car, as I did in Louisiana. And not only did the load get through safe but I got off with only a citation. Was that due to my masterful silver tongue? Was it pure luck? Or was it because I willed it so.  I've been shot at more times than I can count, been tortured with cigars and hung upside down having mineral water poured down my nose with a towel over my face. I've been arrested by swat teams on 3 separate occasions and detained by the DEA. I've lost more money and property than most people will make in their entire lives before I was 30. But I'm no worse for the wear.  Did I make it all up? Is it just my lone consciousness trying to create the illusion of time in the endless void... If that is the case I imagine the memories I have of you, of bliss, of  ecstasy, of unbridled passion and love that no words could possibly hope to elucidate. And conversely the constant pain and sorrow, regret and loneliness, the despair beyond all reason, the years of depression and anxiety without end.  These feelings and emotions must just be my higher self cycling through the entire range of human emotion, to experience all there is to experience. I have felt love so deep there is no measure to define it, and loss, pain equal to or greater than that. But now I sit and wonder, if nothing really matters, what's the point of trying anymore?  I've lived the life of a poor man, I've lived the life of a millionaire, my feelings never changed. Emptiness.  I've known heaven, it was in you, and you were mine.  And I truly believe you at least, to have been real. Perhaps the only real thing I ever experienced. I've known hell, I live it everyday, it's a non-stop droning always in the background, a deep dread and pressure on my entire being. I vibrate with pain daily.  If I'm alone, just a consciousness in a void. Then what is death? A reset? A chance to create a whole new world a different reality, to interact with and maybe learn and feel different things than I have here where I reside now.  It explains why I'm so tired being relatively young. My consciousness has been creating this world nonstop for 12,007 days, when do I get to rest. Amendment : day 12,008 I think I'm hallucinating again. Something strange occurred this morning, I woke up at my usual hour, made breakfast, sat in my usual spot and turned on the news. Uneventful. I finished my meal and sat, my eyes became itchy and blurry, I chocked it up to allergies. Then I closed my eyes a second and suddenly it was 10 minutes later and I was face down on my empty plate.  I felt dizzy, my head felt as heavy as a wrecking ball, so I leaned back and closed my eyes again to gather my thoughts. After a few moments I attempted to open my eyes and found that I couldn't, they felt glued shut and I struggled for an indeterminate amount of time before they began to slowly and agonizingly painfully open. As they opened and I saw light again, thick blood red webbing appeared in my field of vision and as my eyes pulled apart the webbing stretched till after some effort my eyes were fully open.  At this point my breathing was erratic, it was a frightening ordeal. I lean back again and stared at the ceiling, breathing deep in an attempt to relax. But what I saw made things worse, right above me on the ceiling were 8 scrooge mcducks, with tophats and canes, dancing in a rhythmic circle. I stared a while, dumbfounded, looked away and back but they were still there. I sat up and looked straight ahead, unnerved and altogether unsure of what was happening.  I closed my eyes again and there on the inside of my eyelids was a number, counting down like the odometer on a car, it was something like "1,284,543" and rapidly getting lower. I snapped my eyes open and thought to myself, what the fuck is going on....I got up and went to my bedroom, stumbling clumsily, my body feeling like jelly and made it to the side of my unmade bed. I decided to make the bed to try and move past whatever this was.  The light was off in the room so it was dim, and when I leaned in to smooth out the covers I saw thousands of tiny orange ants crawling everywhere under the blanket on my sheets. I jumped back and questioned how the fuck I hadn't noticed while I slept. I quickly turned the lights on and went to investigate for any reason they might be there, but when I pulled back the covers there was nothing..my mind is playing tricks on me..I don't know what to do..so I just got back into bed and wrote this.