Stranger in my Skin

I was watching a Video Essay on some Horror Videogame ... "Growing my Grandpa" or something like that ... and it felt like I was sitting there for hours or maybe a lifetime ... dozing in and out of consciousness. I don't know what it is ... but in a way I feel like a husk. I'm carrying around this tired head of mine; And it kind of seems completely detached from who or what I am.

There was nothing about the story or the images of the game that ... really did anything. And it's perhaps the utter distance from anything I would call familiar that put my subconsciousness in this weird limbo that's basically just losely driven by a fragmentary sense of self, past and existence.

Would it be fair to say that I AM my Soul and kind of ... just returned back into my body?
Well, it's certainly a way to describe it.
But it's ... worse?


I went to bed then ... prayed a LORDs prayer and wow ... connecting with the Most High without having to play a Minigame of whom I mean to address ... that felt nice. But as I then laid there and God did some gestures to share in my relief ... I don't know what happened. I felt like ... I have memories of a life I didn't live ... coming from a past I know nothing about ... and finally: Having a face that isn't my own.

I was laying there, thinking of myself and I felt like I was some middle-aged man with short blonde/brown hair and a mustache. To think of someone that would match that description ... I could only think of the Doom slayer or the Wolfenstein Guy ... but with a mustache.

And why is it there? Why is it so?


It might be the sense of self of a person that doesn't really exist; And instead exists as fragments strewn accross the planet. That's another ... feeling I was getting.

Like, there probably are still parts of "me" here and there ... and me not knowing what to do about it complicates things for me right now.

On a sidenote: I don't know about the Keys ... there are just some things I mean to do ... where it kind of doesn't work. Maybe there's nothing there ... like, how often can I "annihilate" unempowered seals or ... whatever? Or ... I wouldn't want that, I wasn't paying attention, I have to be more careful. At any rate ... I've done what I can to ... just in case ... have it be what it ought to be at this point.


And yea. I right now also feel a strong drag. A desire ... for me. Or not so much me, but ... a pull ... . A pull towards ... images ... vague images of a villa? By happenstance one of the more recent images I've seen of some such place. And yea, I don't know. Images like that ... large houses, luxurious ... something irks me about them. It's the same with places like the White House.
I mean, it was some time back when I watched this Netflix show, I forgot the name. It's about some Black Woman detective investigating a Murder in the White House. Awesome show by the way. But there's something just ... gauding me. About those images. A feeling of like ... "Yea, I belong there". A very ... strong and tangible feeling of ... "that's mine". Or can be. Or whatever. I mean, once cracking the surface of these images and feelings ... thinking of these older ones ... things get weirder. As one might suspect. Like, ... You'd see it for what it is, I guess, while I'd be struggling to ... make a sense of it that I can live with without going mad.

And to be honest, I still ... feel ... like there's something. Maybe it's just a memory? Maybe it's something akin to emotional attachment. But yea ... my God impression is kind of hinting towards things not really being fine just yet. Like ... nowhere near.

But seeing it so, is progress. Perhaps. Not really encouraging ... but still.
And yea, the sense that I'm talking to myself here ... that nobody is actually reading any of this ... at this point in time ... it's really present to me right now. Not sure if I want to believe it.

Well.
I just put some Tortellini's into the pot ... walking through my appartment ... and I can't help but notice the trash and the uncleaned dishes ... . Symptoms of how time passes by in here while I barely take notice of it. Things I felt like I "just" cleaned up are like it's been weeks since I cleaned up ... and overall ... I may be just waking up to my life that has so far, in deed, been merely operated by a Soulless husk.

I guess my Brain is here, my eyes are here, my ears are here. My stomach is here. It's all here and has been here. It's started vocational training as a bookbinder even. And for all that I care or cared ... __I__ was here. But now I feel like I have to wonder: Where the hell have I been?
And who's this guy ... that ... I was feeling like earlier?
The Doomslayer? The default preset?


Hmm ... I was just about to wrap this up - and I noticed what I wrote yesterday. Feels like ages ago. What in the actual fuck? The most logical explanation is that there's layers to the recovery. As time proceeds I'll come to myself more and more; But that one step at a time. What I was attentive of yesterday was that ... and what yet remained were mere shadows in the back of my consciousness. Now some of those shadows came closer ... and oh boy ... are there shadows ... . It's like ... I AM (or was) THE Epstein Empire. Like ... I'm the bricks and mortar, I'm in the sculptures, the floor-tiles ... which I mean literally.

And the Doomslayer face might have been a way to make it appear ... masculine.
I wonder: Is this going to be an adventure or is it ... more like a movie?
Anyway ... I'm going to have more weed soon ... and ... that's up next.