someone help me understand what's going on inside my mind.
He makes a note that he should be grateful that there’s the usual fade of blackness behind his shut eyelids, rather than something more plain. Nothingness, to be precise. He was fourteen the first time he saw what it looked like, and sixteen when the true horror of it settled in his head as a concept; on any other given day, he’d be able to account each time he’s induced this horror in someone, and account the horror by proxy it induced in him. Not today, though — today, all he can muster up is that it is unpleasant, and perhaps that’s a void of its own. He makes another note, then; to remember the precise feeling of not remembering, and saves it for later.
The scene settles between his passage of thoughts. At first, he can simply see it in striking clarity, and a moment later it almost feels like he’s there. Though not quite, which is unsatisfactory. There are many manners of recollection, he’s learnt; and whilst to simply visualise it to a near–real extent would have been enough — if not too much, even — he believed that in the given case it isn’t intense enough. Rather than watching, conjuring up a spectator’s image of himself, he decides that he ought to be himself. As he was then. A spectator anyway, one utilising the eye of the beholder.
Another moment later, the decision, the wish, turns to reality. And it feels… admittedly odd, watching the world through two pairs of eyes blended into one.
People whose world is so potent, as he’d describe it, whose perception is defined by such animation, tend to be called crazy. Though that is because they usually are crazy, their grip on reality fluttering. His is not. Not so far, at least.
Combined with a lack of delusion, such potence of perception makes one feel all–knowing instead. And trapped. The capacity of omniscience, restrained by the limits of the human body, makes it seem as though one is moving through life in a frenzy. It is amongst the best and the worst feelings in the world.