Everything is tied up in a bunch of little knots

Hi. Sorry I couldn't talk earlier. It’s been a long day. I went to college, I ate food (maybe), I slept (probably), I talked to people (I hope), and it’s only at the end of it all that I start to understand that I’m… here. I’m alive, and I’m breathing, and all of that is incredibly unclear. Everything is tied up in a bunch of little knots. My stomach is knots and my memory is knots. The air is in knots, too. It’s made of very very thin strings which you usually don’t see, but the knotting makes it visible.

At first, I just thought I needed to clean my glasses. Maybe they’re dirty, and that’s why everything looks like this. But all the sounds are wrong too. As the vibrations travel through the knotted air, they get twisted up themselves too.

I fidget with whatever I have in my hands. Knots, knots, knots, knots, knots, it's all the same, and my hands are all the same too. My fingers just like that, the pen I hold is just like that, and my mind is just like that. I don't even know how to undo the knots. I didn't know knots could be complicated. I didn't know I could make so many. I didn't know they'd cloud up everything. But they did, and I've stumbled as a result. Stumbled, I've done things which leave ME shell-shocked, leave my wind pipe out of shape, and my– and my ribcage too, there's hands like mine but not like mine, they reached into my body and they did what I did to the pen. And they knotted themselves up as well.

There's nothing more to say, god help me. I try to undo the knots, I try. I fiddle with the air around me, I fiddle with my own machinery. But my brain structure is gone. My brain structure is done. Cognitive decline I'm guessing. Something. I don't know. Everything is– what is structure? What is shape? The knots do have a structure and shape. But there's so much, and it's overriding the structure and shape of everything else.

My mind can't work in knots. I cannot love you properly if I can't see through the knots. You are not knots, I already know this. I can see only a few glimpses of you with clarity, but I'm glad to say you're the way you've always been. And you change too, but not in awful ways like me. I'm proud of you and I'm glad you're you, and I love you, so much. But everything else is knots. I can't think straight, I can barely think at all. And every attempt to undo it either makes it worse, or does NOTHING, or it's such a MEASLY improvement that… no, I'm just sorry. I'm really sorry. It doesn't make any sense. And as time goes on, it's going to make less and LESS sense. Because it keeps twisting more and more. More, MORE, and unclearer and unclearer and unclearer.

I'm here, that's right. But ‘here’ makes no sense. All the light rays are getting twisted too. It's making everyone’s faces seem wrong to me, and what if it does that to your face too? No. I'm sorry, I'm unreachable now. There's barriers. It's walled up. It makes no sense. The unclarity is thick. I'm sorry. I'm here, but “here” gets worse and maybe it's only my eyes and ears and skin and tongue and nose and mind and spine and stomach which twist, and maybe the morphing isn't real, or maybe it is, and maybe we'll never reach through the newly-formed bramble again, and either way, either way? I do not know if I can handle it. I do not know if I can keep trying to reach for anyone at all through the knotting and the twisting and the distortion senseless morphing when it's this bad. And I'm sorry.