Apparently some people were curious about that. I live!
Right now, I’m sitting in a cute coffee shop in a tiny town in Wisconsin, listening to their bluegrass music and the hum of the espresso machine and clanking of dishes and it feels familiar and distant. Because a year ago, though in a different location, the same sounds and smells were a daily thing.
I’m not sure how I’ll look back on this period of my life. I wonder how much damage is irreparable. I’m curious if I’ll ever manage to have a relationship again, or a friendship, but the odd thing is, I don’t miss human connection anymore. I used to feel the ache of loneliness. Sitting alone in a cafe, I’d observe groups of friends interacting with one another and feel a pang of jealousy. Now, I observe them with a faint sense of wonder. What motivates them to do that?
Have you ever heard of tulpas? I read about them recently, and realized I had a tulpa. I didn’t know his name, but he was there, every night, for quite some time. He comforted me as I fell asleep. There were odd little details about him: He worked the third shift, so he left after I fell asleep. I don’t know where he worked. He had a short beard, rusty-brown hair. Nordic looking. He had a big smile and he liked to laugh.
He left. When my depression took a turn–not for the better or for the worse, just a slight shift–he disappeared. Out of curiosity, I’ve tried to bring him back a couple of times, but I can’t. He’s gone. I don’t miss him. But I wonder why he left.