There’s something ridiculous I haven’t told anyone.
I don’t even know how to explain it without feeling stupid.
Because it doesn’t make sense.
Nothing has happened.
I’m just reading things.
Watching videos.
Stories.
Other people’s experiences.
And yet I keep noticing my own body more and more while I do it.
That’s the strange part.
I never used to think about my mouth.
Ever.
It was just there.
Now sometimes I’m reading something and suddenly realize I’ve been consciously swallowing for several minutes.
And the moment I notice it, it gets worse.
Because then I can’t stop noticing it.
My tongue.
My throat.
The reflex of swallowing.
All of it.
It’s ridiculous.
And I’m embarrassed to write it down.
But it’s true.
There are nights when I close my laptop and lie there staring at the ceiling.
And I keep thinking.
Not about specific scenes.
Not even about people.
I think about details.
Small things.
Things that are far too small.
The feeling of paying attention to something I completely ignored before.
The feeling that something so simple can start taking up space inside your head.
What worries me isn’t the excitement.
That would be easier to understand.
What worries me is the curiosity.
Because it keeps growing.
And it shouldn’t.
Every answer creates another question.
Every explanation opens another door.
And every door seems to lead to the same place.
Reading a little more.
Searching a little more.
Thinking a little more.
Sometimes I catch myself doing ridiculous little things.
Tiny experiments.
Nothing important.
Nothing that means anything.
And yet I feel embarrassed when I notice myself doing them.
Because nobody asked me to.
Nobody is watching.
I’m alone.
And still I do it.
As if I’m trying to understand something from the inside.
I think that’s what is hardest to admit.
I don’t feel like I’m looking for an experience.
I feel like I’m trying to solve a mystery.
And the more I read, the less I understand it.
Sometimes I tell myself I’m going to stop.
That enough is enough.
That I don’t need to keep researching.
And for a few hours it works.
Until it comes back.
A sentence.
A memory.
An image.
Something I read weeks ago.
And then that feeling returns.
The feeling that I still haven’t reached the bottom of something.
If somebody asked me what I’m looking for, I wouldn’t know how to answer.
Honestly.
Because the answer changes every week.
Sometimes I think it’s excitement.
Sometimes I think it’s curiosity.
Sometimes I think it’s emotional.
And sometimes I think I’ve simply become addicted to asking questions that don’t have answers.
The only thing I know is that this started as something small.
Something I could close with a browser tab.
Something I could ignore.
And now it shows up even when the screen is off.
That’s the part I don’t understand.
And also the part I don’t dare tell anyone.
I have to move my neck I am not moving it should…
