So when did this overbearing thought process begin to poison my way of life until I truly believed in nothing?
I don't know. How could I not know something like that, one might ask? How could I not have a pivotal moment in which it suddenly struck me that my reality doesn't exist?
Maybe it's because the idea itself didn't strike me at one time. It slowly crept its way into my mind until I realized I believed it.
I believed that nothing is real.
I began doubting everything.
Nothing made sense.
Books I read, TV shows I watched, friends I texted, friends I talked to, family members that looked like me and didn't look like me, dogs and cats I held on my lap, coaches that helped me become a better athlete, teachers that taught me ways to absorb knowledge....
It all seemed useless. Worthless. Pointless.
Because they aren't real.
Well than why I am I real?
If none of them exist, if nothing serves a purpose except to relate to me, why do I exist? Do I exist?
I know I exist, because I can think. I am thinking right now. I know I am real.
So am I the only thing that exists?