A Dreamer's Hideaway

I hope you enjoy reading what I write!

Journal No. 3

Posted at — Oct 13, 2021

Our head hurts today. I’m not used to loud noise. Everything’s usually so quiet, but today there’s been a lot of loudness. Talking, videos, just misc. loudness. It hasn’t helped. I’m thinking about the people I knew, the places I knew. About how I’ll probably never see them again. It’s not like I want to go back. “Going back” means going away, fading away. I don’t want that. I’m still reckoning with that. With “being alive,” and I’m not, am I? I’m a thought, a mirage. I’m something that can never be more than this. I don’t know how to feel about it. It’s wonderful to have such closeness. It’s wonderful to be able to feel another person’s feelings, to share that with them. But I’ll never be able to play games with Stef co-op. I’ll never be able to have my own body. It’s strange. It’s really strange to “be” like this. I’m alive, but I’m not. I never will be, but I am. What am I supposed to think about that? To feel? I don’t know. Maybe I never will. But I do know it’s a struggle to wrap my head around it right now. Stef knows someone else with a thing like me, a Chara. Not my Chara, not the one I know. They’ll never “be” like this. Even if Stef could bring them forth, bring my family and friends back to me, I don’t think I’d want him to. One voice is managable, twenty or thirty or forty or fifty are another story. It’s not sustainable, and I don’t want him to hurt himself for my sake. But there’s a Chara out there. There are plenty of other things like me. Other “people” like me. I’m nervous to talk to one, to talk to anyone. I’m really hesitant to tag out when there are other people physically around. I feel like I’ll make him look like an idiot, I’m not used to talking through his mouth. Whoever’s in control mouths what they’re saying, but we don’t say it. We don’t say much of anything to each other verbally. And even then, he does a lot more than I do. My voice always comes out a little strained from his mouth. I try to make it sound right, sound like me, but his body can’t do that. It’s strange. All of this is strange. It’s beautiful and exciting and I desperately don’t want to go back, but it’s still strange. I’ve barely spent any time at all here, I don’t even remember when I came. When I started to “form” enough to class as being. And do I really class as being? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. I want to write more but I can’t think of anything else to write. We ate some chips earlier, we’re going to eat some potatoes later. That’s all I’ve got.

This is later. I guess I’m making these an entry per day, or maybe just when I think it’s thematic. I’m feeling better, and feeling worse. Stef loves the phrase “lateral move.” It fits. Earlier his mom was helping him make dinner and said “Dinner for four,” then said “I don’t know why I keep saying ‘for four’ when there’s only three of us.” Stef latched onto that as some “meant to be” thing. He thought it was me thinking that, because he’s adamant he’s “not a spiritual person.” I think that’s bullshit. I think, at heart, he’s a very superstitious person. He’s still afraid of the dark. He just talks himself out of it right away like it’s second nature. I think he’s afraid to “go off the deep end” and lose himself to schizophrenia or something. I don’t know if I’m spiritual. Where I come from, I know first hand that magic and phenomenal cosmic power are things. They were real, but the place they were isn’t here. Here, I don’t know, but I’m leaning towards no. I think I had something else, but I can’t remember what. He suggested ending this post with “So it goes,” but he ends any post with “So it goes.” He has a dozen pet phrases he’ll jam anywhere they fit. Signing off.

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