I think I’m already dead. I’m dead and this is all a dream. Or maybe it’s what flashes before you in the last moment before you die. Either way, it’s not real.
I’m … dissociated. Probably autistic. I’ve been hiding my symptoms all my life. Have you?
I don’t know. That’s what everyone says no, isn’t it?
It’s like I’ve been put out of use. Laid aside.
By what?
By life. I don’t have any consolations. You have your philosophy. And I have … what?
Work in Progress 