He was falling. His body twisted, disintegrating into parts like his body parts aren't his at all. He jolted awake as he fell down onto the ground. The room is dark, no sign of any light at all. He carefully looked for the phone, his hands tapping the bed as he searched for it. The clock on the phone read 2:00 am. He had been asleep for 5 hours, but it didn't feel like sleep at all. He felt that he was dying as he was falling down.
He tossed to the right, attempting to sleep again. As he focused on getting back to sleep, his brain recalled the dream - nightmare - he had. Sometimes he'd force his brain to daydream, something happy. Sometimes he failed.
He had fallen asleep when he realised he was in that same dream again. His body twisting, breaking down into smaller parts but without pain. It felt like dying as he fell deeply to sleep. It felt like it's a pathway to never waking up again. He repeated his name on his head in an attempt to give his brain something else to work on:
He repeated it to himself over and over.
He woke up panting and unable to focus on his breathing. His hands were trembling. He looked at his hands, squirting hard to see past the blurry lines and he saw the hands he claimed was not his. The hands were small, fragile-looking. His hands were not.
He glanced around the room, trying to make out the details in the black. Trying to focus on something else had been the key whenever he noticed something else that takes away his sense of identity. But this time, he knew he may not be as real as he thought he was.