November 2nd, 2025
Today was supposed to be a day of rest.
Not the kind of rest that leaves you refreshed, energized, or ready to face the world with renewed claritybut the kind that feels more like surrender. The kind where your body is so exhausted, not from physical labor but from the constant hum of your own mind, that sleep becomes both sanctuary and prison. And honestly? I welcomed it.
I slept. A lot. Not in one clean stretch, but in waveseach one dragging me under only to spit me back out into a reality that felt just as dreamlike as the nightmares I'd left behind. Speaking of nightmares… they came again. Vivid, tangled, and emotionally charged, as if my subconscious felt the need to remind me that even in sleep, peace is conditional. But I'm not surprised. With hallucinations as frequent guests in my daily life, it's no wonder they follow me into dreams too. Over time, I've grown used to themlike background noise you learn to ignore, even if it never truly fades.
And yes, I also had erotic dreams. There. I said it. I'm a 20-year-old adult, after all. My body and mind are still exploring, still feeling, still reacting in ways that are perfectly humaneven if the rest of my internal world sometimes feels anything but normal. I'm not ashamed of it. If anything, those dreams are proof that beneath the pills, the hallucinations, the disordered sleep, there's still a part of me that's alive, curious, even playful. This journalthis bookisn't just a record of my struggles. It's a mirror of my true self: messy, complex, flawed, and unfiltered.
As usual, I woke up at 3 PM. The sun was already beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across my room. I dragged myself up, ate somethingcan't even remember whatand swallowed my daily ritual: eleven pills. Eleven tiny capsules or tablets that are supposed to make things better. But most days, they feel like bitter placebos. They don't silence the voices. They don't untangle the nightmares. They don't fix the clock inside my brain that insists I sleep from 9 PM to 3 PM and still feel like I've barely closed my eyes. Still, I take them. Because what else is there to do? Hope is a quiet thing, but routine is louderand right now, routine is what's keeping me tethered.
No more than fifteen minutes after taking those nasty pills, I was out again. Just like that. My body gave up the fight without even putting up a real one. This time, though, sleep didn't bring even the illusion of escape. Instead, I found myself in the grip of sleep paralysis. That awful, suffocating state where your mind is half-awake but your body refuses to obey. I wanted to screamto flail, to sit up, to do something but I was frozen. Trapped between two worlds, unable to move forward or backward. The hallucinations shimmered at the edges of my vision, twisting the familiar shapes of my room into something alien and threatening. It's moments like these that remind me how fragile the boundary is between dreaming and waking, between reality and illusion.
But then, somehow, I broke free. At 7 PM, I was backfully awake, heart pounding, breath ragged. I needed comfort. Something simple. Something sweet. So I ate a cream bun. Blueberry flavored. And honestly? It was *delicious*. The flavor was rich, almost indulgentthe kind of small joy that feels disproportionate in its ability to lift your mood, even just for a few minutes. In that moment, holding that soft, sugary bun, the world felt a little less heavy.
Dinner followed, though I barely remember it. And then came the decision to sleep again… or so I told myself. In truth, I'm still awake. Right now. Typing this out in the quiet hours, probably well into the night (or is it morning already?). The cycle continues: sleep, wake, eat, medicate, drift, dream, struggle, repeat. It's monotonous, yesbut within that monotony, there are flashes of color. A blueberry bun. A dream that feels human. A sentence written honestly, without mask or pretense.
To anyone reading thiswhether you're a future version of me trying to understand this time, or someone walking a similar pathI want to say this: even on days consumed by sleep and shadows, you are still you. Your dreams (erotic or otherwise), your fears, your pills, your paralysisthey don't define you, but they are part of your story. And your story matters.
So, wherever you are in your day or night:
Good morning.
Good afternoon.
Good evening.
And Good night.
May your rest be kinder than mine todayand if it isn't, may you find a blueberry bun waiting for you when you wake.＼(^-^)／
Content Warning: The following entry contains descriptions of mental health symptoms, including hallucinations, sleep paralysis, nightmares, and references to medication. It also includes personal reflections on intimate dreams. Reader discretion is advised.