Your head can be a prison.
Or, in my case, it can be Tartarus. If there's one thing that hasn't changed about me since the day I realized that the world was real and my world was not, it's my self-doubt.
Even when I'm all but certain of something all it takes is a few seconds for the worm to eat itself bloated into my brain. Is that really my name? Am I really who I think I am?
I've learned to push the questions away, but the worm keeps eating, keeps growing. It feels as though eventually it's going to grow so huge that it'll explode in my head, leaving me with a wasteland for a mind and nothing to anchor my existence to.
When I feel as though I'm on the verge of drifting off on the shores of insanity I pull myself back with facts.
So much potential. So much time. So many people depending on my success. So many other ways to go.
So many worlds to see, and so much of my own world to destroy. So many triumphs, and so many losses to experience.
So much life and death.