I'm beginning to think that I'm not real, and that every self-judgment is only a small projection of how I fear just existing. All of me could be disproved, And even if my body was real, it would only be there so my mind would have something to float in. Still, when I see my reflection in windows and doors I am taken aback because I forget I'm not invisible. I forget how my body and mind go together, that I exist as a physical thing even when I cannot see me or mine. But I don't want, really, to give up on being haunted or needed, of wanting to hold on to any semblance of a good thing.
