Losing Grip on Reality

I’m writing this down, so that maybe someone will understand that I didn’t do it, not really. I wasn’t really there. Something is wrong with me. I’ve lost grip on reality. The way I’ve been experiencing things isn’t the way it actually happens. Maybe it’s the other way around. I don’t know. Please understand, it’s not my fault. 
It started off simple. One morning when I was making coffee, I put the milk in the cupboard instead of the fridge when I was done with it. I brushed it off as being tired, after all, I’ve heard of it happening to others when they’re tired. The thing is, I genuinely believed I put the milk in the fridge. I saw the fridge, felt the resistance of the magnetic seal, and felt the cold air on my skin as I put the milk away. It was so real, but the sour smell from the cupboard with the pots and pans and the absence of milk in the fridge the next day told me otherwise. This should have been a sign. I should have listened to the gut feeling that told me something was wrong. 
Plenty of other little things like this happened over the next few weeks. All things I could make an excuse for. I had just woken up, I was over tired, I was stressed, I wasn’t paying attention, that sort of thing. The problem was the incidents became worse and worse.
I was taking the bus home late one evening, it was the same bus I always take, the same route, and I got off at the same stop. The walk from the stop seemed to take a little longer than usual, but I was sore from a workout, so I assumed I was just walking a little slower than usual. Everything around me looked the way it always did. The sidewalk and street were brightly lit by the street lights above. The blue house was to my left, like it always was at this point in my walk. I felt like I was walking through molasses, almost as if my feet were sticking to the ground. I was just tired, I thought. My sore legs were making it feel like the ground was sticky, not the concrete sidewalk beneath my feet. As I passed the house with the tire swing, I tripped. I landed face first into water. I struggled to stand up, and I realised I was knee deep in a creek I had never seen before. Once I dragged myself out of the creek, I realised I didn’t know where I was. I was in a part of town I’d never been in before, and I had no recollection of how I got there. All my mind would provide me was the image of the same bus I always take, the stop I always get off at, and the same streets I walk night by night. 
I managed to find my way to a busy street where a police officer stopped me. I explained to him that I had just gotten a bit lost and tripped while in the dark. I didn’t tell him what actually happened. I didn’t want to have to go to the hospital for a psych evaluation. He was kind enough to give me a ride home. 
When I got home from this ordeal, I showered and tried to convince myself that I was just overly stressed. It wasn’t something for me to worry about. I just needed a good nights’ sleep. I didn’t really believe it. I knew something was wrong. I didn’t have time to deal with it in my busy schedule, though. I should have made time. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be in this situation.
I started having nightmares. What if I lost track of where I was or what I was doing, and I did something horrible? I couldn’t sleep. I became irritable. I alienated what family I had. I lost friends. My work suffered. I needed to do something about what was happening to me, but I was too afraid. I had already lost my 	friends and family, I was coming close to losing my job, I didn’t want to lose my freedom. I thought that if I sought help, I would be locked away in a mental institution for the rest of my life as a danger to society. At the same time, I was worried I would do something to get me incarcerated and have no memory of doing such a thing. 
A few days after ending up in the creek, I told off my boss at work. He called me into a meeting, and I apparently lost it on him in front of all my coworkers. I supposedly called him all sorts of names and said some really terrible things, things you can never take back. All I remember is going to work, spending the day doing my desk job, and going home. I don’t remember ever seeing my boss. I found out the next day that I had been fired when I was escorted out of the building by security and told that if I showed up again, the police would be contacted, and I would be arrested.
The nightmares became worse and worse. I decided to take a walk one night when I couldn’t sleep to try to clear my head. I went into the nearby park to star gaze. I sat there for a while, trying to pick out constellations amidst the light pollution. I heard a rustle from the bushes behind me and suddenly I was being attacked by a coyote. That might sound odd, but I live in a suburb on the edge of the city that sometimes gets coyotes. It felt like I was fighting for my life and I thought after getting a good punch in that I had scared it off. That’s when I ‘came to’ so to speak. At my feet was someone’s pet dog. I was in someone’s backyard, not the park, and killed their dog, not fought a coyote. I ran home as fast as I could. My biggest fear came true.
The next morning, the owners of the dogs were on the news talking about what happened and offering a reward to find the person who killed their pet. They were offering a reward to find me. The police also were looking for the person to arrest them. There was a warrant out for my arrest, thought they didn’t know it was me specifically.
I think that must have been the breaking point. Three days after that and onwards, I have no memory of anything. The date on this computer tells me that it has been four months since the incident with the dog. 
Right now, I am in a house I don’t recognize. I don’t think I’m even in the same province anymore. My hands are covered in blood and making the keys on the keyboard stick as I type this. The blood isn’t mine. I can only assume it’s from the woman and child tied up in the kitchen. 
It’s not my fault. I don’t remember doing it. I didn’t do it. 
I’m leaving tonight. I’m going to borrow their shower and some fresh clothes, and then I’m gone. I don’t know where I will go. I have nowhere to go, but I can’t stay here. I won’t be arrested for something I don’t remember doing. 
Goodbye.
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Diary/Journal