I drift in and out of reality and wonder why I even try. The world and all its problems feel like a depressant that keeps me anxious, shaking in bed. Lately, I feel as if I am always drifting in REM atonia. An Old Hag, I see myself in a broken mirror, dissected, distorted, real yet imagined, and I wonder: when did this happen? I do not have the answer; all I know is that Somnambulism has become my new norm. Yet no one seems to have caught on yet. They all treat me as if my words, smile, movements, and interested blank stares are real. I cannot be enthused by the monotony of office gossip or the platitudes of meaningless praise. Life has become a series of little nightmares, ending each day on a cliffhanger.
I have found myself in the worst kind of horror movie. For no one comes to kill me, and each day I awake to new horrors, terrifyingly ordinary and deadly just the same. In a state of Hypnagogia, I remember the faces of all those who have gone ahead and live with those who will soon be gone. Life moves from sunny disposition to bitter cold tentacles of doom. Yet each day I must perform the ritual of the living dead. I must continue on a broken reel that I must push so I continue to stay in the same motion of going nowhere. Yet, for all of this, I give thanks…
