What If?

"When we came together I realized the whole thing was just a dream. A weird, wakeful kind of dream that's hard to explain.” He hesitated, and reformed his discourse “And it became obvious that time isn't the same for you as it is for me." He lowered his gaze.
   “Keep going,” she said. She smiled, not a real smile, but it was still encouraging.
   “I realized that nothing I did while I was away really mattered, I was just filling time.”
   "How'd you figure all that out?"
   "A lot of thinking, probably too much thinking. But I'm glad I thought it—all of it."

Remember all the stupid shit you did to remedy yourself, and fill the crevasses of your soul—the cracks in your walls of isolation? Remember brooding upon the straggling scars tracing your being? Bound together with medical tape and sutures, you sought to heal yourself. You were your own doctor—some kind of metaphysical surgeon superseding all limitations. You were laying in a pile of your own pieces. You're still not whole. You're still jaded. You're still bitter. You're still abstract. You're still gathering words together... to make sense of it.   

   What if all your mad thoughts, weren't so mad after all? Perhaps all you are, and all you imagine yourself to be, is more than a figment of your imagination. You are, after all, a being of your own cognition. Furthermore, the wasted days—the moments of your darkest hour—may not have been as circumventive as you thought, but instead became the mold of your unique bundle of flesh that still, without doubt, breathes and lives—though maybe not in the traditional sense. 

   I see through closed doors—I know nothing is what it seems! Imagine, I dare you, think of a place anywhere in the world—a deserted corner that is uniquely yours—a happy place, or the place you go to grieve. Now imagine you were dropped at a random coordinate around the globe and were told to find your way back to “your place.” Given ample time and resources you could do it—such is the power of the human brain—an ability to navigate from memory.

The world is just a series of closed doors, and rooms. At any given time we can only see one room, but there is an infinite number of rooms coexisting concurrently. If you traversed to another room, and left your room behind, how would you be sure that your room ever existed? No thought I've ever thought has been sensical. 

There's no water, but I'm drowning

Everything is O-K, but I'm flailing

I'm happy, sorta, but something is missing