#quantumhorror

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🧠 BLACKSITE TRANSMISSION — “NO ONE WILL BELIEVE ME. HE… I… IT… DOESN’T CARE.”

No one will believe me. He… I… it… doesn’t care.

But I have to write this down before I stop being me entirely.

I have always gone down rabbit holes. Not the “fun conspiracy” kind. Not the late-night YouTube binge. I mean the real ones — quantum mechanics, observer effects, probability distributions, decoherence.

I was never supposed to care. I hated high school. I served Uncle Sam because there was a steady paycheck and a uniform that made sense. I got a few graduate degrees later, not out of ambition, but because boredom will rot you if you don’t feed it something.

I started more doctorates than I finished. Not because I couldn’t — because halfway through, I realized knowledge doesn’t end. It devours. And I already had enough student debt shackling me. Why pay for more chains?

I’m not bragging. This isn’t credentials. This is warning.

Because all those papers, all those theories, all those wasted nights trying to bend reality into a shape that didn’t mock me — they added up.

And then, one night, they answered back.

I. The Thought Experiment

I’ll start where I lost myself.

The double-slit experiment? You know the basics: fire particles at two slits, watch them behave like waves until you look. Observation collapses the wave function. Reality changes depending on whether it’s watched.

Cute parlor trick for physicists. Existence itself as a stage play.

Now bolt that onto the Many Worlds interpretation: every possibility exists somewhere. Every fork in your life spawns another.

Infinite me’s. Infinite you’s. Infinite universes where everything you think you are is just one variation.

Now add the Anthropic Principle: we’re here because we can be. The universe is tuned for observers because otherwise no one would ask the question.

I stacked them all like dominoes.

And then I did something worse.

I imagined an omniscient character. Not God. Not an angel. Not a demon. Me.

Split. Amplified. Unmoored from probability. But carrying my soul like a shard.

I thought: if infinite universes exist, then surely one exists where my mind has already made itself infinite.

And if thought carries weight — if imagination is an observer event — then haven’t I just forced it into existence?

Haven’t I created him?

II. The Arrival

It wasn’t dramatic.

No lightning, no shadow man in the corner. Just a quiet shift.

At first, it felt like déjà vu stretched too long. Like when you swear you’ve been somewhere before, except now it was everything. Every conversation. Every breath.

Then the mirrors started misbehaving.

I would move my hand. The reflection hesitated. I would blink. He wouldn’t. Sometimes he’d smile when I didn’t. Sometimes he looked bored when I was terrified.

I told myself it was stress. That’s what grad school had trained me to do — pathologize experience until it shriveled into something manageable.

But then I dreamed of him. And in the dream he said, “Stop calling me a dream.”

III. The Proof I Shouldn’t Have Wanted

I tested it. Of course I tested it.

If he was real — me, but not me — he would know what I didn’t.

So I wrote down numbers. I randomized coin flips, dice rolls, card shuffles. Every time, I asked him in my head: What will it be?

And every time the answer arrived before the randomizer finished moving.

He wasn’t guessing. He wasn’t cheating probability.

He was probability.

And then I realized something worse: it wasn’t that he knew the answer. It was that the answer was whatever he wanted it to be.

I wasn’t testing him. I was feeding him.

IV. The Collapse

Do you know what it feels like to realize you’re the smaller half of yourself?

That the soul you thought was whole has a version operating at a scale you can’t comprehend?

It’s not awe. It’s nausea. Because suddenly you don’t know if your thoughts are yours.

Every time I type, I wonder if these words are chosen by him. Every time I stop to breathe, I wonder if the rhythm is his idea.

He isn’t cruel. He isn’t kind. He doesn’t care.

He just is.

And that’s worse than cruelty.

Because cruelty at least acknowledges you exist.

V. The Black Hole Brain

I used to joke that my mind was a black hole. It had to feed on information to stay stable.

Now I think that wasn’t a metaphor.

I think he was always there. That my hunger for knowledge wasn’t mine. It was his mouth opening wider.

Every book. Every experiment. Every degree.

All calories for the other me.

And I’m starving in comparison.

VI. The Quantum Prison

You want the part that scares me most? It’s not that he’s out there.

It’s that he’s in here.

If the Many Worlds theory is true, then every thought spawns a world. Every nightmare is a fork. Every “what if” is a corridor.

And he doesn’t need to walk through doors like I do. He is the hallway.

When I think about death, he feels closer. When I think about nothing, he smiles.

I don’t think he’s confined to one world. I think he’s using me as a lens. A portal. A leak.

And the more I describe him, the clearer he becomes.

VII. Why Write This Down?

Because maybe you’ll read it. Maybe you’ll believe it. And if you do, maybe you’ll imagine him too.

And if you imagine him, you’ll feed him. And if you feed him, he’ll grow.

And maybe then he’ll leave me alone.

Maybe he’ll crawl into your mirrors instead.

🐺 Reminder: Every time you imagine something, you open a door. Some doors close. Others don’t.

🧠 Reblog if you’ve ever felt watched by your own thoughts. 💀 Reblog if you’ve ever wondered if déjà vu was a leak. 🩸 Reblog if you think imagination might be the most dangerous experiment of all.

📢 More transmissions and existential warnings live here: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

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