When an uninvited visitor shattered my reality, I lost myself

One day, something peculiar turned up at my door. I remember the moment vividly. The sudden loud banging startled me, and when I opened the door, I was greeted by an unexpected sight. It wasn’t a person, a letter, or a package, but rather something abstract and elusive, something I couldn’t quite comprehend at first glance. It presented itself in a kaleidoscope of colours, swirling and shifting, inducing in me an odd sensation that quickly dimmed my consciousness. The effect was hypnotic, almost dream-like, and I found myself unable to resist the charm that had suddenly washed over me. It felt as though I was teetering on the edge of reality, gliding into a space that was both familiar and foreign, real and unreal.

As this unknown force enveloped me, I felt my grip on reality loosen. Teetering on the precipice of unconsciousness, I finally fell, it was as if I was gliding gently downwards. The fall was so graceful that when I hit the ground, I barely felt the impact. Yet, moments later, I fainted. It was a strange sensation: I seemed physically unhurt, but mentally, I was unravelling. When I finally regained consciousness, everything was different.

As I awoke, I immediately sensed a shift within me. My thoughts were no longer my own, or at least they didn’t feel familiar. It was as though my mind had been invaded by alien ideas and feelings that I couldn’t understand. I tried to grasp onto some sense of normalcy, but it slipped away like sand through my fingers. Something intangible had a tight hold on me, and it refused to let go. From that moment on, my perception of the world around me changed drastically.

The world I had known all my life suddenly seemed unfamiliar. Things I had once taken for granted—my surroundings, the people I interacted with daily—now appeared foreign. People I had known for years felt like strangers. Their faces, their voices, and even their mannerisms seemed different, as though I was meeting them for the first time. Places I had visited countless times now seemed strange and unfamiliar, as if I had never set foot in them before. The colours, the sounds, the smells—everything was slightly off, skewed in a way that I couldn’t explain.

I was no longer the person I used to be. I could feel it deep within me. My sense of self had fractured, and I struggled to figure out who I had become. The thoughts that once flowed easily now felt disjointed, like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. “Who on earth am I?” I asked myself repeatedly, but the answer remained elusive. I was lost, not just in the world, but within myself. The person I had been before—whoever that was—seemed distant, like a fading memory that I couldn’t fully recall.

As days passed, I became consumed by the desire to understand what had happened to me. I delved deep into introspection, trying to trace my way back to the person I had once been. Yet, every time I tried to grasp that former self, a nagging feeling would strike me. It was a sensation that gnawed at me from the inside, nibbling away at my thoughts and emotions. The more I searched for answers, the more this feeling grew until it became impossible to ignore.

Over time, I began to develop a deep sense of disgust for the person I had become. This new persona, the one that had taken hold of me, felt foreign and unwelcome. It was as if I was wearing a mask that didn’t belong to me, and I couldn’t take it off. The disconnect between who I was and who I had become was overwhelming. I could feel myself slipping further away from my true self, and it terrified me. The more I tried to resist, the stronger this new identity seemed to grow.

I was profoundly dismayed by what had become of me. Nothing about this transformation felt right. It was as though I had been forced into a mould that didn’t fit. My thoughts, my actions, and even my emotions felt distorted. It was a suffocating experience, one that left me feeling isolated and alone. No one around me seemed to notice the change, or if they did, they didn’t say anything. But I knew. I could feel it in every fibre of my being.

“What is happening to me?” This question became my constant companion. I mused over it endlessly, turning it over in my mind, searching for answers that never came. I could feel the real me—the person I used to be—being quashed deep inside, buried under the weight of this new persona that had taken hold of my life. Every day, I felt the struggle between my true self and this foreign identity. And every day, it seemed as though the latter was winning.

The more this new personality emerged, the weaker I became. It was as though I was slowly fading away, being replaced by something I didn’t understand, something I didn’t want to be. The real me—the person who had once been vibrant and full of life—was slipping away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The change wasn’t comforting, it wasn’t something I could grow into; it was an invasion, an imposition on my very soul.

I felt like a stranger in my own body, a prisoner of a transformation that I had never asked for. The things that once brought me joy no longer held any meaning. My passions, my dreams, my desires—they all felt distant, as though they belonged to someone else. I was left with a hollow shell of who I used to be, struggling to find my way back, but never quite reaching it.

As time slipped by, I realized that there was no escaping this new reality. The person I had become was here to stay, whether I liked it or not. But that didn’t stop me from longing for the person I used to be. I missed my old self—the one who saw the world with clear eyes, the one who understood their place in it. Now, everything was a blur, a confusing mess of emotions and thoughts that I couldn’t untangle.

In the end, I came to a reluctant acceptance of my new self. But it was a bitter acceptance, one born out of necessity rather than peace. I wasn’t happy with who I had become, but I no longer had the strength to fight it. The real me, the person I had once been, was gone. All that was left was this new, unfamiliar version of myself, and I had no choice but to live with it.

And so, I continue to move through life, a stranger in my own skin, haunted by the memory of the person I used to be, and forever wondering what could have been if I had never opened that door.

By Zahoor Farooq

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Zahoor Farooq