I was aware of two things when I woke up.
One, I had a killer headache. Unlike anything Iâve felt before. I did not drink, so I could not compare it to a bad hangover, but I would anyway. And it was a lot worse.
Two, through the miasmic haze shrouding my aching mind, I was aware I was clutching on to something. Something important.
I tried to open my eyes, but my mind yelled at me to shut them. That was moving way too fast. So I kept them closed as I tried to orient myself in other ways.
I was on a hard surface. Metal, it felt like. The air smelled a bit like bleach and other cleaning products. It was quiet, save for the thundering booms I felt in my head with each of my heartbeats.
I gave it a while, and opened my eyes.
I already knew what had happened. But not the extent nor the consequence.
I visited psychiatrists about this. Telling them how I would wake to things being rearranged, being in possession of things I never had before, missing other things I had before. It was like my body was gaslighting me.
It was not a dissociative disorder, it was concluded, which made sense. I did not have any kind of severe ptsd or trauma which was what was commonly attributed to the disorder. It did not feel like there was an alter or anything.
I had been possessed by the Other, as I often was when I slept. The headaches, the soreness⊠All a byproduct of repossessing my body.
What had happened this time?
As my eyes adjusted to the light, as the dizziness slowly dissipated, as the haze lifted just a little, I realised I was in a jail cell.
I unclenched my fist holding on to that something important. It was a crumpled piece of paper, warm and wet from my palm sweat. I really, really did not want to let it go, it seemed.
I unfurled it, and read itâs contents.
âMy bad. Hang tight. I have a plan.â It read.
origamiaround
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
