Sometimes reality seems like the submissive twin of emotions. When sadness takes over the heart, the perception of life mirrors that of a dead and branchless tree. The beauty of the surrounding world begins to feel more like a cold abode meant to temporarily sustain its inhabitants. The others wander aimlessly, somehow believing that this empty haven has a purpose, even as they are visibly lifeless. At this point being alive really begins to hurt, as it becomes apparent that others are simply smiling because their deaths have allowed them to live within confines and shadows, unaware that the only true ghosts in this world are themselves. Touching on this topic I would like to answer a question by introducing myself to a friend of mine, but this is not a question that anyone has ever asked me. It's just something I'd like to answer. “”So,” said the psychiatrist, looking up from his notebook, “when did you first find out you were dead?”” (Beaumont). It was at the age of thirteen that I first discovered that I was dead. It wasn't a sudden event, but six years of bleeding until I finally made it to the other side. Having never really thought about it, I actually find it quite interesting about the way my life has played out, but that's not the point. In 1997 I remember hearing a prediction that the world would end on a particular date, and although the earth remained brave despite this supposed end, a sphere of intermingled storms began to form in my head. Over the next six years my mind focused on the world, whether it was the year 2000, social incapacities, terrorism, domestic life, etc., but there weren't many thoughts about metaphysics or personal reflection. In 2003 I became... half the paper... and with ever-expanding self-awareness. I mean, if a hamster knew it was just a pet whose sole purpose was to entertain the neighbor's children when they came over, how much time would it spend performing instinctive actions like digging a burrow or storing food in its cheeks? Why would he want to move? I felt like a lonely pet for so long, questioning the hand that fed me, but now that I have a companion to take part in this expedition of discovery with I'm able to learn and grow as a person. It would be great if I could write follow-up adventures. It would be great if I could paint my friend in a better light, but in the end it's not about him. It's about the difference it made, and since it may not seem clear let me tell you something. Is there anyone who will understand me when I say “For us the enemy was Reality”. (Lessing).