I feel like I’m being gaslit… but that’s the nasty thing, isn’t it? You just can’t tell. Everything feels like it’s 2 inches to the left, and a half-inch forward from where it used to be. It gets my hackles up. A sickening prickle at the base of my spine. Every step feels like a mis-step, and I’m ready to fall face-first into whatever it is that catches me.
Were those drapes blue? Wasn’t that plant on the left?
And then it gets personal. My friends don’t seem to remember what I do. I feel like I’m slipping into someone else’s life, barely distinguishable from my own. I’m in the wrong place. The wrong body. I thought we had dinner together last week… or was it the week before? It starts with simple things- things that are easily mistakable. You make concessions. Maybe you’re just mis-remembering. Everyone does, we’re only human, right? But it starts to add up. How much can one person really forget before they start to question their own mental fortitude? Spanned out over a long enough period of time, you might never. Small things, here and there. Tiny changes. Minuscule; until your whole world is different and you concede that it was ever thus.
And what would I do if I knew for sure? If I retraced the steps? If I found out who or what was doing this to me? What power in the universe, to move me molecule by molecule into someone else’s life? It would drive anyone mad to face that, don’t you think? At this point I’m almost there, as it is.
I’m just not sure about anything anymore. There’s a whole ‘nother life in a dream that I remember; I think it might be real. Might have been real.
I don’t know what to say… or to whom. It’s not safe.