So much can happen when locked inside my imagination with no stimulus. Besides a few responsibilities, this weekend I guess I’m doing an experiment to see how much the world changes when I’m not there to experience it. Im so tired of feeling not productive enough, I’m tired of the self-hate and mindfulness. It creates nothing but agony and terror. So I decided to give up and sleep.

My dreams have been beautiful. I could write a book about the exploration of my imagination and the blissful world I can create in my own mind. The problem with that is, the more disconnected I become from my body, the harsher reality is when I have to wake up to go to the bathroom. Maybe emptiness and darkness are the only thing that awaits me, maybe I’m worth nothing more than a hypothetical story that no one will ever read.