I haven't left the house in almost a month, except for the occasional trip downstairs to buy a pack of cigarettes. Ever since that time I was pulled out of the sea, I feel like I've completely lost touch with the world. Every day I just force myself to keep up the illusion of being "still alive" inside this cramped room: typing out some code, playing a bit of games, getting up and walking to the kitchen, then coming back to sit down — pretending to be normal. But every night when everything quiets down and I lie in bed, my thoughts come rushing in like a broken dam, unstoppable. And the tears come too — silent, but always there.
I just want to finish my meal in peace, and when I get hungry again, find the next one. I don't want to be disturbed by anyone, and I don't want to struggle to fit in anymore — just let me sink slowly into my own sea, like a stone, sinking steadily, cleanly.
Day 147, 2025
I haven't left the house in almost a month, except for the occasional trip downstairs to buy a pack of cigarettes. Ever since that time I was pulled out of the sea, I feel like I've completely lost touch with the world. Every day I just force myself to keep up the illusion of being "still alive" inside this cramped room: typing out some code, playing a bit of games, getting up and walking to the kitchen, then coming back to sit down — pretending to be normal. But every night when everything quiets down and I lie in bed, my thoughts come rushing in like a broken dam, unstoppable. And the tears come too — silent, but always there.
I just want to finish my meal in peace, and when I get hungry again, find the next one. I don't want to be disturbed by anyone, and I don't want to struggle to fit in anymore — just let me sink slowly into my own sea, like a stone, sinking steadily, cleanly.