Uhh… where to start??
I think I’ve been trying to begin for a long time.
Every time I do, the words arrive half-awake, as if they’ve been listening to me think for hours and are too tired to form sentences. Sometimes they just vanish in the world of their own.
I am here because silence started feeling heavy.
Not peaceful. Just full.
I live with a mind that edits reality.
Sometimes gently. Sometimes like a knife.
I wake up in one version of the world and go to sleep in another.
The difference is small but enough to notice, like a picture slightly out of frame.
There are days when I feel like a scientist watching my own thoughts through a glass wall.
Taking notes. Recording observations. Hoping they make sense later.
The variables keep changing.
The constants refuse to stay constant.
I live between hypotheses that never settle.
People like to treat names as answers, but they are really just labels for questions we don’t know how to ask.
When the doctors said it out loud, I remember feeling both smaller and more visible at the same time.
As if the world could finally see me, but only through the lens of a word that doesn’t hold the whole picture.
Schizophrenia.
It sounds static.
It sounds distance.
It doesn’t feel either.
It feels like living with multiple radios tuned to slightly different stations.
Sometimes they harmonize.
Sometimes they scream over each other.
Most of the time, I’m just trying to keep the volume low enough to think.
I am not here to explain it. When I write, things seem to slow down. Maybe still a scrawl, but at least comprehensible one.
I study physics, funny. Though I don’t think I chose it for the equations.
I think I chose it because it offered an illusion of order.
We are told that even chaos follows rules, if you look closely enough.
Maybe that’s what I’m doing here too, trying to find rules for the kind of chaos that lives in me.
There’s a quiet irony in being someone who measures systems while living inside one that refuses to stay measurable.
But maybe that’s okay.
Maybe not everything needs to be solved.
Some things are meant to be experienced.
Most days, I wake up to the same questions in my head.
Are these thoughts mine?
Is this real?
Is this still me?
And somehow, music helps.
And sunlight through the window.
And the sound of kids going to school in the morning… ordinary sounds tether me to the world.
I listen to music all day all night. Even when I am sleeping. I never turn it off.
Winter is coming… sunlight is very hard to get here in Germany. And kids are quiet too these days.
I don’t really know what the purpose of this blog is.
Maybe it’s a diary that doesn’t care about order.
Maybe it’s a slow archive of moments when I remember how to be human.
Maybe it’s proof that I existed long enough to write something down.
The internet is strange.
It’s both infinite and lonely.
You can disappear completely here, and still be seen by someone miles away who understands you without knowing why.
I have not slept today.
I have to get to labs in the morning. But the thought of lying still feels heavier than being awake.
The music is playing (“Sugar for the Pill”), and my head keeps talking. Sometimes I think sleep isn’t rest, it’s just another version of thinking… one I don’t control.
I can’t control my thinking when I am awake either, but sleep unsettles me.
I mailed my doctor about what’s going in my mind. Why? I do not trust my friends. I do not trust my doctor as well, but I trust her enough to share some of my thoughts. I told her the things I have been hiding from her. She told me that I am not very well. Hah… like I didn’t know that.
My arm is a mess.
Today was the first German Language lecture for this semester. When I told the lecturer my name, she started shouting, “Oh, Ash aus diesem Anime, richtig? Wie war der Name?? Wie war der Name??”
“Pokémon”, I said.
“Aah… hast du haustiere?”
“Nein.”
“Kein Pokémon… EHH?”
I smiled.
She was nice. People in Germany are nice. Except for my last doctor. I think he was plotting against me. There was no way of knowing.
I don’t know how long I’ll keep writing.
Maybe a month. Maybe years.
Maybe until the fog clears, or until I stop needing to translate myself.
Maybe until this voice feels like a place I can live in peacefully.
For now, this is where I am.
Not at peace, not in crisis, just somewhere in the middle listening to my own thoughts, letting them turn into words, so they stop feeling like ghosts.
If you’re reading this, you are part of the experiment now.
Not the scientific kind, but the human one.