Jayden Brown.
That's my name. But you can just call me Jay.
If someone's reading this, I guess I'm still here. Still breathing. Still pretending I'm okay, even if everything inside me is cracking.
This isn't a cry for help.
It's a record.
A chronicle of the descent I can't escape from.
Something is inside me. It's been sleeping… but now it's stirring. Slowly. Like a beast stretching after a long slumber. It's not sudden. It's not dramatic. It's creeping. Patient. And it wants out.
I don't remember when it started. Maybe it was the shadows I'd catch in the corners of my eyes—shapes that vanished before I could turn my head. Or maybe it was waking up in the middle of the street, unsure how I even got there. The time I found myself lying next to a dead cat—one I swear I'd never seen before—that one still haunts me.
No, I think it really started with the hallucinations. At least, I hope they're hallucinations.
Tiny black orbs, just floating in the air. Black hands flickering in my peripheral vision. Faces—strange ones—that blink into existence and vanish just as fast. Faces I don't recognize but still feel familiar. As if they used to be part of me. Or maybe I was part of them.
I know what you're thinking: "You sound insane."And yeah, maybe I am. But I swear it's real. Or real enough.
These things don't just show up—they slip in, just long enough to be noticed. Too quick to prove, too vivid to forget. No one else ever sees them. Maybe no one else is meant to. Maybe whatever's doing this wants to keep it that way. Wants me to feel alone. Wants me to break.
And it's working.
Sometimes I sit and stare at nothing. Just let the static in my brain hum. That's when I see the black orbs best. They hover at the edges of my vision—until I look. Then they vanish. Like they never existed.
It's been happening more since April. That's when my birthday passed. I didn't celebrate. I never do. It always lands on a weekday, and honestly, I don't see the point. It's just a reminder that time keeps moving forward while I'm stuck in the same place.
I stayed up that night. Couldn't sleep. I was just lying there, thinking—talking to myself in my head like always. Not in a "hearing voices" kind of way. More like different pieces of me arguing. I've named them over the years:The Logical One. The Stoic One. The Cheerful One. The Angry One.They each take shape based on how strong the emotion is. Sometimes I even see them when I close my eyes.
I'm not sure which version of me is writing this now. Maybe it's the emotionless one. Maybe it's just… me. The real me. Whatever that even means anymore.
That night, I made a deal with myself. I'd play some games. Watch some YouTube. Eat something. Pretend to have a birthday celebration. I followed through, like I promised. But I felt nothing. No spark. No joy. Just obligation.
The days blurred after that. April slipped into May. May drowned into June.
And that's when things got worse.
The hallucinations became constant. My sleep fell apart. I was always a night owl, but suddenly I was pushing past 3 a.m., 4 a.m., even 5 a.m. Sometimes I'd stay up for 30 hours straight. Not because I wanted to—because I couldn't stop. My body wouldn't let me rest.
Back in March, I had this dream. I was tied to a stake, tortured in ways I don't even want to describe. Over and over again. Every time I died, I'd wake up—then get pulled right back into the same nightmare.
And that's when I knew something was wrong.
But the truth is, this didn't start with a dream. I've been slowly breaking for years.
Depression. Isolation. Suicide attempts. I tried to end it more than once.
My biological father died when I was nine. I barely remember his face. My mom and him were never married. I don't even know if I was planned. I've always felt like a mistake—like I wasn't supposed to exist.
Some of my siblings died too. One after another. Now my stepdad's in the hospital. And me? I feel… nothing. Like I'm not allowed to grieve anymore.
I think I've been conditioned to numb it all.
And now, that thing inside me? The thing that's been waiting in the dark?It's hatching.
I can feel it in my bones. It's leaking into my thoughts, my skin, my spine. I find myself grinning when I'm hurting. Or just staring at walls with a blank face, like I'm disconnected from reality. Sometimes I press my palms into my skull, thinking if I squeeze hard enough, I can force the darkness out.
Someone I knew died recently. Instead of grieving, I debated what I should eat. Chicken nuggets? Ramen? That was the depth of my emotional response. And instead of being horrified, I laughed.
Not a happy laugh. A dead laugh. A laugh that sounds like crying but colder.
I think the part of me that could feel real grief rotted away years ago.
Two years back, I got a letter from my then-girlfriend. Said she was going to kill herself. I found it and collapsed. Cried until I couldn't breathe.Turned out it was a lie. She never intended to go through with it.You'd think I'd feel relief.I didn't. I just felt… numb.
Even now, I can feel things crawling under my skin. I look down—nothing. But I feel them. Like something just beneath the surface is trying to get out.
My mind is corroding. And I don't know how to stop it.
I don't even know if I want to.
[End of Log-1: Illusions]