[ WP ] You 've been trapped in a `` Groundhog Day '' style loop for years . After your most destructive loop yet , you stop looping .

The best was the high. First time high. Every time. 
 
 My brain remembered each day. I don ’ t know how, even with all of the unexplainable, unbelievable, unintelligible shit I lived through for 11 years, I still maintain that the brain is a physical thing. Memories are imperfectly encoded events that, while not understood, are a combo of biological, chemical, and electrical. Physical things. Able to be touched and measured, just like one's blood pressure, or neurotransmitters released to trigger hunger or anxiety. I do n't know why I remembered each day in the loop – the rest of my body regenerated like new. Wounds healed, bones mended, teeth regrew. Sometimes I would sleep just to repair my body, like a video game. Maybe it was video game, or maybe Descartes was right all along and the mind is separated from the body. Maybe what they tell me is true and I fucked myself up too much. Broke my mind. Because the other option is impossible, isn ’ t it? 
 
 I got stuck in what I call the loop on September 14, 2014 A.D. You know the Groundhog ’ s Day? It was the movie Groundhog ’ s Day. Except if you really have this ability, this…. opportunity.... the world isn ’ t PG. 
 
 You do some weird stuff when you ’ re the only one who remembers the world and your damage is erased each night. Sometimes you ’ re malicious. Sometimes deviant. Sometimes, after you ’ re in for a while, both. You, reading this, you ’ ve thought of what you would do if time stopped? Imagine what you would do if it just restarted? And you could do anything without repercussion? And you never thought it would end? You don ’ t have to tell me. You know. Some of you would probably be worse than me. 
 
 The last 4 years were drugs. Just drugs. Heroin was my favorite. You know how they say the first time high is the best? It ’ s true. I remembered each loop day previous, but every morning I ’ d awake with a fresh brain, full of memories of ecstatic bliss but physically naïve to the drug. Unfamiliar with the chemicals overpowering my natural opioid system with unadulterated pleasure for the first time. Every goddamn beautiful first time. 
 
 I ’ ve had a first time high hundreds of times, and I have hundreds of subsequent non-first times more since the loop stopped. Once you find it the first time in the loop, which can be hard, depending on where you ’ re coming from, it ’ s easy to go straight there every day. To say the same things and, because you restart with a full bank account every time, spend all you fucking want. Do all you fucking want. First time. Every time. 
 
 That last night in the loop, I pushed it. I thought this was permanent. Whatever trip, whatever end of life DMT-induced hallucination, whatever test or purgatory, computer simulation, whatever the fuck it was. It was the one consistent thing. Each morning I woke up with a fresh mind and a fresh body to abuse. I pushed it. I wanted to push it. I gave my dealer my neighbors car that I stole after hitting him with a bat and tying him to a chair an hour previous, like every other day since I learned he overvalued BMWs as a status symbol and would give me almost any amount I wanted if I pretended it was mine and I was desperate. Dealers are used to desperate people logic. I told him to keep injecting me. I told him I wanted him to try to almost kill me, basically. I knew I wouldn ’ t die. He accepted my death wish and my stolen car. It was to be my last day in the loop. September 14, 2014. 
 
 I woke up in the hospital on September 21, 2014, emerging from a medically-induced coma in treatment of an overdose on September 14, 2014. The chart says so. The doctors say so. My parents and sister said so. Apparently, it wasn ’ t just heroin, and I was lucky to survive at all. I would never regain full brain function, but I remember it all. I remember it all fine. 
 
 The doctors said that I “ broke ” a part of my brain from being the coma for too long, and being oxygen deprived from asphyxiating on my own vomit before the paramedics could revive me. They say that my memories are the remaining scraps of my brain trying to put together a picture, an explanation for this. I speak more slowly now, but I remember. When I was charged with the legal terms for beating the shit out of my neighbor and stealing his car, I remembered doing it. It was brazen – why not if he wouldn ’ t remember the next day? But this time, he remembered it, too. The court liked his memory and reasoning better. 
 
 I know the loop was real. It has to be real – to have at least been real. I know things I could n't have known before the loop. I experienced things that I couldn ’ t have experienced, that the time did not even exist for. I ’ ve learned things – skills, studies, information about people that I only acquired because of the infinite time for trial and error to get further and further each time. I tell the psych evaluator this, I told my lawyers this, and I tell my family this. They react with a mix of dismissiveness and pity. My sister won ’ t talk with me anymore until I “ get clean. ” She doesn ’ t understand, and I pity her for it back. 
 
 Each time I use it's not the same. It ’ s not the same and I try harder because I remember. I remember that first highs, all of them pushed together into 4 years of consequence free nirvana. I am chasing something that I ’ ll never hit, something I lived but can ’ t ever return. I yearn for the loop. It aches. I just need the fucking time. 

