I’ve been trying to figure out who I am. I can tell you that when I stare at a room long enough, I’m nauseated at how disjointed everything looks — like a dollhouse with ugly furniture. I can tell you that I’ve been so tired lately, no matter how much sleep I get. There are thousands of worlds, universes even, inside of my mind, but I can’t tell you the names of the planets and the galaxies. I’m thinking of how I am, and I’m unsure of what the answer is. I’ve gotten terrible at articulating my thoughts, it seems. My words aren’t flowing. They’re stuck. I’m in a rut. These are my thoughts, but why do they feel so foreign? Where have I gone? I’ve hidden myself in a labyrinth with no end, but I wouldn’t be able to answer you if you asked me what I was hiding from. There are no monsters in my kingdom, but I still tremble in my dreams. If you’ve figured me out, or if you’ve found me, please let me know.