The Void Between Dreams and Reality

I can no longer tell the difference
between what I read in a book
and what was a fantasy of my own imagination.
I don't know anymore what are my own ideas,
and what another inspiring author wrote.
day flows into night and night into day,
in and out like the tide, in a relentless circle;
what is remember is not what i remember;
my memory is becoming unclear.
When I wake up, I don't remember.
I used to be able to recall specific details
and the basic story of my dreams...
but not now...
and why is it so hard for me to apologize?
To make face, and say it straight,
I admit my cowardice in hopes of learning to defeat it,
but for now I write to you this letter
like a child, I am reduced to rudimentary methods of mind.