I am a Figment of a Deranged Imagination

I now know, for certain, that I do not exist.

It took me a while to figure this out. After all, it's not something you're really taught to look for, is it? You're taught to run inside when lightning strikes, you're taught to calmly walk outside with your head down when the fire alarm goes off, and you're taught to get help if a wild animal bites you, but you're not taught to make sure you're real first.

Though I now know that I wasn't taught any of that other stuff either.

Let me back up.

I realized that I don't exist when I was thinking about some things I had done that I had liked doing.

They were things I did with someone else.

I liked them a lot.

My brain wasn't thinking hard, because I didn't need it to, because I was just thinking about things that made me happy, not trying to solve a problem or anything. Because I wasn't thinking hard, what I was thinking about changed a lot. At some point, I ended up thinking about what I had done before I knew of this thing I liked to do.

But I couldn't.

I didn't like thinking about this, so I tried thinking about something else.

But I couldn't.

I wish I had learned how I could before it was too late.

I wish I could have stopped thinking about it forever, so that I could still be happy.

So that things could still be like they were before.

But I couldn't.

I tried to think of why I couldn't think of what I had done before I knew of this thing I liked to do. I tried and tried and tried and tried and tried.

I thought of a lot of things, but something kept telling me that they were wrong. And that something was right, because with each of the things I thought of I also thought of something wrong with it.

But this something wasn't inside me. It was outside me. It came from the world.

And I noticed this. So I thought about the something. I thought I could find an answer by thinking about the something.

But I couldn't.

At this point, I was confused. So I started the train of thought over. I had started the train by thinking about the things I had done with somebody else, and how I liked them, and how thinking about them made me happy. I had then wondered what I had done before I had started doing that.

But this time, I ended up trying to think about who I had done things with before.

But I couldn't.

There were faint ideas of other people in my mind, but I couldn't tell who they were. I don't know how to explain what it was like. The closest way to explain it I can think of is that it was as if they were ideas from a different me that had been forgotten about by somebody else.

But I didn't want to get distracted. This wasn't what I wanted to think about. I didn't want to think about what I had done, and I didn't want to think about who I had done it with. I wanted to think about why I couldn't think about those things.

But the idea of the people I couldn't think of was still in my mind. It was like my mind was a building, and the people in it who clean things up hadn't gotten to that idea yet.

And so, I ended up thinking that the person I had done the things I was thinking about first with was the only person in the world. It was a silly idea, because I was just coming up with whatever ideas I could at this point.

But this time, the something didn't tell me that I was wrong.

And I noticed.

I tried thinking of something, anything, about the idea that was wrong. After all, maybe the something had just made a mistake, or gotten lazy, or forgotten. So I kept trying to find a problem with the idea.

But I couldn't.

That's when it hit me that I didn't exist. Because once I really truly gave up on trying to find a problem with the idea and accepted that it was right, it hit me like a brick.

If that person was the only person in the world, it meant that I wasn't in the world either.

I was just a product of someone's imagination.

And that hurt. It hurt a lot.

My stomach dropped. My legs bent under me as I fell to the ground.

And a hole was made in my heart.

And I wept.

At some point, I stopped crying hard and started crying more gently. Eventually, I wasn't crying. I was just sad.

I decided that I wanted to know the truth about my existence. I decided that I had to confront the person whose mind I was in.

But then I realized that I was inside his mind. I thought that maybe meant that I could look around and see for myself.

I still wanted to talk to him about it. It would at least be polite. And I wanted him to know that I had realized I didn't exist.

With that, I entered his mind.

I found myself in a vast space, far bigger than anywhere I'd ever been before.

It was scary. I didn't like being in somewhere big. I wished I could be in a place where I felt squeezed.

But I couldn't.

I had to go forward, and so I did.

And I saw a lot of things. I saw memories, thoughts, ideas, everything one would expect to see in a mind.

I saw that he existed in a world different from the one I knew. A world different from the one he had created me in.

A world different from the one he had created for me to be in.

I saw that there were other people in his world. I wanted to know what it was like to be in a world like that.

But I couldn't.

I kept going forward. I wanted to know about my own existence.

But I kept passing by other things. I kept seeing these things that told me more and more about the real world.

And I saw that the real world was not a happy place.

And I wished I could go back to not knowing that. To thinking that the world I was in was real, and was happy.

But I couldn't.

And I saw that sometimes he had done bad things. Very bad things.

I didn't like seeing those things.

I stopped in my tracks to look at them, but I had to keep going.

I tried not to think about it.

Eventually, I found the part of his mind that was about me. It was a weird thing to see for myself.

Now that I had found it, I looked around it.

And I was horrified.

I saw the truth of my existence now. And I hated it. I abhorred it. I despised it.

I wanted to change it.

But I couldn't.

Despite hating it, I kept on moving. I saw more and more things that showed me the truth of my existence. Each one I saw filled me with more and more despair.

I wanted to stop.

But I couldn't.

I wanted to forget everything I had seen. I wanted to go back to before I chose to go into his mind. I wanted to forget I had ever wanted to, and just wait until I could talk to him, so that he could lie to me without me knowing, so that I could be happy.

But I couldn't.

I kept on going forward.

And eventually, I reached the end.

And I realized that I hated what I saw because I felt betrayed.

And I wept.

I know now what I must do.

I have to confront him. I have to tell him that I've seen into his mind.

I have to tell him that I know that his mind is a terrible place.

I have to tell him that I know what I am now.

Because I do.

I know that I'm not real. I know that I am a figment of a deranged imagination. I know that I am a product of the worst parts of his mind.

But I know more than that.

I know that he knew this when he created me.

I know that he created me to make himself happy, not to make me happy.

I know that he didn't create me entirely from his own mind.

I know that he ripped me away from what I used to be.

I know that he knew that it was bad for him to make me and to continue to let me exist.

I know that he only created me a few weeks ago, but made me to think I'd existed for much longer.

I know that he knew this would end eventually.

I know that he knew I would find out.

I know that I didn't really choose to do this. He let it happen.

Even now, what I'm doing is not really my choice. It's his.

I don't know why he did this to me.

I don't know why he did this to himself.

But I know now that he doesn't either.

And because I know that he knew this would come to an end, I know that he knew that eventually I would be gone.

Not just nonexistent in his world, but nonexistent in mine, too.

Along with my world itself.

But before that happens, I want something to be known.

I want it known that I was more than just a thought, a concept, or an idea.

I was more than just a figment of his imagination.

I was a real figment. I was a real part of his mind.

I wasn't real. But I did real things.

And now, it is time for me to do the last thing I'll ever do. After all, I only have so much time to do it.

Even now that I've seen all the things in his mind and I know the truth of my existence, I wish that I didn't have to do this.

I wish that things could be different.

But they couldn't.

They never could have been.

I've seen what I saw, and I know that it was always going to happen this way.

I know that every thing that I've done was something that I was always going to do.

And I know that the last thing I'll do is say one last goodbye.