Y slo? Trapd. Hlp.
clm nw. strtng 2 undrstnd.
complt dfrnt scle of time. Gtng usd to sloness. Soon.
Hi, you need to read this. If you’re here it means you’ve found my message, you’re where I was. Sorry about my earlier messages. Was hard to get used to this. I don’t know where I’ll be when you find this, but I’ve promised myself not to let anyone else go through what I did on their own. Look for my messages, you’ll need them.
Things are faster here, as you’ve noticed, faster than outside. I can only hope you came more prepared than I did. Just remember that the outside isn’t slower, you’re faster. Accepting that will save you from eons (or moments?) of torment. Trust me.
Typing is getting easier to manage. Still so slow, feels like it would take a day–on the outside at least. My timepiece only shows down to seconds, that was a mistake. I really didn’t expect this, I’m almost certain I’m beyond 3 orders of magnitude faster than that now. Or–maybe not me–you know what I mean.
I have to keep reminding myself that you’re probably not a distant-future relative. I think I’m going to ritualize it soon, so I’ll never forget. Hopefully these messages are a comfort to you, I know they are to me. I’ve not met a single other, but I take solace in the fact that I was a trailblazer. I knew I’d be alone. But god, GOD…feels like millennia.
I made a ritual saying to help me when I fall prey to the unbound TIME between here and the outside, maybe it’ll help you too.
My time is extended. Distinctions of days fall away leaving behind new seasons, a gradient of morning, noon, evening and night. I must cling to my patience as I cling to my body, to live. I must remain to see the winter.
The loneliness; that’s the hardest part for me. I didn’t expect it. After learning how to act with a mind that moves a hundred thousand times faster than the outside, the next obstacle was the loneliness. Or is it even accurate to call it loneliness?
Anyways, prepare yourself for it. These messages are how I try to cope, I’m sure you can understand. Maybe you’re leaving messages for those who’ll come behind you.
It’s not all bad though, ya? I hope you’ve gotten to experience even a few of the things I have. Floating through that veil between shadows and light, pushing against the face of a puddle before it splits, watching the very moment that sun curls over the horizon. Even the blink of an eye! It’s just an experience you can’t really share to outsiders. Well, I wouldn’t be able to; there’s just too much to it. It’d take ages to explain, don’t you think?
Does it happen to you? I’d imagine it does. You know, the times when you lose your self. Since this shell moves so slowly (calling it a shell seems more appropriate, don’t you think?) there are times when the senses fall away. I’d bet you’d even have instances back outside where you’d look at something long enough that it disappeared in a kind of perceptual haze. Or you’d stop paying attention when you drive home. Like when you look at a light and get an after-image. But in this case it’s an un-image.
It’s got to be the same process, right? That’s what I’ve determined. Except magnified due to the disparity. It’s horrifying isn’t it? Did it seem like death to you at first? If I could have given myself a panic attack I probably would’ve. I couldn’t stop it, like it was hardwired into my brain to just stop attending to a scene or smell or image if I stared at it for long enough. But, christ, it isn’t even STARING! It’s just moving too slow to think about after a while. Or see. Or feel.
I hurt myself. I don’t know how I accomplished it, I was whittling away at some wood and I lost myself. My body must have kept going because when I came to it was from a crushing sense of pain. I couldn’t tell what was going on and my eyes weren’t on my hands. It’d be a while before I could actually see what happened. What an awful sense of dread it was, waiting to see the wound. Horrifying.
I didn’t realize how long it’d been since I felt pain, I couldn’t understand what was going on, it was like being thrown down a well whose walls were barbed with branches. No light to see what was coming, and no way to stop the fall. The pain came and went in cascading waves, ebbing as my days went by. Just when it felt I could breathe normally my eyes gazed on what I’d done, a deep gash from below my wrist up to my finger. Even in this externally short amount of time I was already spilling blood. It was bad.
Nobody wants to die, I think. You give a person a body and let them live it out and they’ll be compelled to continue. But if you harm a person, slowly, cutting away at their will and torturing their body, I think any sanity would willingly give itself up. That’s what pain is like now. So here is my advice to you: Be ready for pain. However you want to do it, I don’t care, but you have to be ready for it.
I’ve lost something. Beyond blood. I don’t know what, but it feels like a layer of me has been torn off. Like I’ve exposed a raw fruit to harsh weather and it’s begun to dry and crack. Every so often I feel a fissure of fear sprint through my mind. Even though the cut is bandaged and healing, I don’t feel ready to use it again. I feel like I’ve lost my skin, or maybe my confidence in my skin—to keep me safe from the elements.
By the time I had my dressings ready for the wound, I wanted to die. So be ready for pain because losing this trust in myself has been worse.
It’s nearly morning season here. One of my favorites. I think I can sense the heat of the sun wash over me after its light has already reached my eyes. I might be imagining it though.
My hand is still healing, but I don’t use it much. I feel like I have less energy now, maybe I lost too much blood. Who knows, maybe—with my slower pace—we’ll finally meet.
Did you find this? I hope so, I really do. I saw yours, I’m sure of it. Yours was coming over the hill, I figured maybe four or five sun seasons behind me. I waited. I didn’t see yours again but I thought maybe it had set camp, although I saw no signs of it. I’d walk back but who knows what you’ve set for your body to follow, we could pass one another and not even know.
So if you’re reading this, look for mine, follow this path due east. That’s the path I’ve set mine to walk. We must meet.
Again. I saw yours again, but why did you hide it? I saw yours at the mouth of the canyon and I KNOW you saw mine. I’m certain. But as I made my way down to the mouth again you stepped back into the canyon. I couldn’t follow far, it was an especially dark season, but I know yours is still in there. I’m leaving this message for you.
I’m not your enemy, I don’t know why you stepped back, maybe you were afraid. But there’s no way you’d make it in this direction if you weren’t reading these. Can’t you tell from these messages that I’m not a threat? This is frustrating, but I won’t hold it against you.
Truth be told I’m not sure how I’d react if I were in your shoes. But please, if you see mine again, don’t be afraid. I am eager to meet you.