You ever wake up in the morning and just know something is off? Like, not in a “forgot to take the trash out” way, but in a “my entire existence is being microwaved by an invisible force and I can’t prove it” kind of way? Yeah, that’s me. Every day.

I think my house is trying to kill me. Or at least gaslight me into believing I’m just sad when actually, there’s some kind of 4D nonsense happening that I’m perceiving in ways that make zero sense in a polite society.

Let’s break this down.

I have synesthesia, which means my senses like to play mix-and-match. Specifically, I can taste sounds. That’s right. Sounds. Have. Flavors. Your voice might be a weird citrus explosion. A car alarm might taste like burnt toast. And my house? Ohhh, my house serves up a buffet of absolute dread, but only in certain areas. Some rooms make my stomach drop like I just swallowed a spoonful of battery acid. Others feel like I’m chewing on the concept of static electricity. And no, I can’t explain that better.

So naturally, I started wondering: What if my sadness isn’t actually mine? What if I’m just tasting some kind of sound-based environmental horror that my brain translates as despair?

This is where I go full conspiracy.

You ever heard of infrasound? It’s like sound, but worse. Low-frequency waves that your ears technically can’t hear, but your body can feel. Some scientists say it’s why people think places are haunted—because infrasound messes with your nervous system, makes you anxious, and can even cause visual disturbances. So what if my house is one giant infrasound nightmare and my synesthetic brain is just translating it into edible misery?

Or maybe it’s EMFs (electromagnetic fields). High exposure to EMFs has been linked to fatigue, anxiety, and all-around existential dread. Routers, smart meters, power lines—I’m surrounded. Maybe my house isn’t haunted. Maybe it’s just deeply annoying on a molecular level.

Or, OR—stay with me—I am perceiving something higher-dimensional. In a 4D reality, sound isn’t just sound, it’s a carrier of energy and information. What if I’m literally tasting the vibrational residue of everything happening around me? What if my sadness isn’t mine at all, but an echo of something unseen, translated into a taste because my brain just refuses to deal with it in any normal way?

Point is: I might not be depressed. I might just be standing in the wrong corner of my house, getting emotionally wrecked by some rogue frequency I can’t name. I should probably test this. Relocate my desk. Stand outside more. Maybe play different sounds and see if I can overwrite the ones that make my soul taste like regret.

Anyway, if you’ve ever felt weird in a specific place for no reason and thought, “Wow, I must just be insane,” maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re just accidentally perceiving the hidden mechanics of the universe in an extremely inconvenient way.

Either way, I’m moving my furniture. Just in case.