I want to sleep, I can't, but I want.
It get harder to stay awake, to be me, to avoid going into daydreams, to stop fantasizing about everything. What keeps me happy is my mind, a mind that lets me be someone else, one that doesn't exist, one who I actually like, one that lets me be the characters in the books, that lets me dream amazing things, so that I don't want to wake up, a mind that makes my daydreaming soo real, too real, where I can smell, taste, and even touch, making this reality confusing, sometimes imaginary, maybe the dream I keep having in my other life. It becomes hard to stay here, to remember this is where I am, that I can't actually stop and let myself be completely taken by what I want it to be, what I dream, what I creat it to be.
It's not the first time I creat a world, a perfect world, one where I run off to and hide, where I can be happy, where I enjoy being me. It starts with an idea, a wish, and it builds from there, suddenly the smells are real, and if I come across them here, I'm taken back, a fall through to my own magic place, and coming back gets harder each time. As time goes by, I can taste the food, I can enjoy the drinks, and before I know it, I can even touch. I can feel. I'm there.
When I know I'm gone, when I know it's real, for me, is when I know the people in my world can feel it too, can touch, can smell, and they look for me.
I've tried anchors, looking up players in this play, keeping in mind that they are real, that in this world we don't meet, knowing they have a life, completely separate from me, not knowing who I am, not wondering who or where I might be, it's what helps me stay here. But it gets hard. I start making this facts fake, I start making this life and theirs the lie, and then I go deeper, I am gone.
I am now lost, separating the lie from my life gets harder, I stop listening to people because I'm gone, I don't remember parts of drives because I don't drive them, it's not me, I'm somewhere else. And I wish I was.