I still remember it quite clearly – where it began. It was in the afternoon and I had just come home from a philosophy paper. In the morning, someone reminded me of my terrible haircut. I was lying down on my bed and fell asleep, then awoke sometime around four, after which I turned to lie on my side and that was when it happened. I sunk far into the throes of sleep. Somehow I knew, at the outset, that I had to wake myself up, otherwise I would never be able to wake up. It was as if my mind languished and was on the verge of giving up, and only I had the power to stop it. So I tried, I tried to open my eyes, to push myself up from the bed; but as soon as I thought I had done it, I realized that my mind had lied to me, and I was still asleep. There is no greater fear than becoming imprisoned in a dream state, taken away from the world and the ones you love, yet being able to hear their voices echoing through the large cave in which you are trapped. But as it was, I could not feel any fear. I suppose it was my mind that blocked off the discomfort; for it knew that I would be there for a very long time.
All through the years I would hear voices, some from my parents, from my sister, from friends. I would also feel my dog sniffing at me and licking me. I wanted to call out to them, tell them that I’m still here, alive; that I wanted to get out of this stifling space and return to where they were. It was those voices and those sensations that kept my will alive. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened to the man left in his own morbid silence?