Strictly speaking, hallucinations happen on the threshold between wakefulness and sleep, when you are falling asleep or rousing awake.
They feel unmistakably real. Yet, they are false. This is why I love hallucinating.
I don’t get to control these fantasies and fictions.
I don’t even know that I’ve been hallucinating.
The only reason why I realized this time, this morning, was because I asked my mum if she had actually rinsed my sandals like I heard her say. Usually I wouldn’t ask such a thing, since we already had a conversation about it. But the sandals were where I had left them at the base of the bunk beds, bone-dry and still dirty.
“Your sandals? No,” she replied.
She wasn’t confused, but neither was I.
Thanks to her, I realized that there were two other hallucinatory episodes. In all, I am also “choosing” to keep my eyes closed, but I realize now, that even if I were to try opening them, that might not be possible.
The earliest one: Person F and Person E were having a very intimate fight with words, and I (thought I) was witnessing sexual coercion between two guys. It was so vicious-sounding, that I texted another friend while pretending to be asleep, that if I wasn’t alive the next morning, this was the address to send the police to.
The other one: Person G was putting a blanket over me (which brushed my lips!) and getting yelled at by Person H, who was saying “Come here now. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”
I’ve always loved dreams, and now I’ve found something I love even more.