At some point, narcolepsy seemed like a real possibility. The idea emerged after years in which carrying out any task, regardless of its nature, felt impossible: replying to an email, going to the gym, delivering an artwork, answering a call. How or where did not matter. Sleep would take over. Falling asleep in the most unlikely places became common, and more than once strangers woke me up at meetings, parties, even while working. A large part of recent life feels as though it has been set aside exclusively for sleeping.

That was when an obsession with sleep began. The best sheets on the market, ergonomic pillows made of very specific materials, a dim red light turned on in the home office that travels softly down the hallway and spills into the bedroom. The sensation is that of a fire welcoming an animal resting in a cave after a long day of hunting and wandering.

The drowsiness was so overwhelming that it affected not only basic tasks but also the creative side of things. That is how, one day, through different colleagues, various drugs appeared: Zenzedi, Provigil, Adderall. The most common ones. The most heavily used in the routine. Suddenly, the ability to cross tasks off a list reached its peak. Creativity became restless but, indeed, produced results and ideas approved by everyone. Life seemed easier with a supply of magical pills that sharpened focus and erased sleep.

One afternoon in October, the studio looked more like a pharmacy than a place to work. That was the moment to say, okay, it is time to slow down. And so it happened. When stimulants are interrupted, a thought appears: that creativity was nothing more than a response to a handful of pills. It is a common thought. It does not deserve much attention. Reaching this point already meant that creativity was there. Unless it never existed before and only appeared with the pills. Even then, it hardly matters. The end often justifies the means, whether one likes it or not. A source is a source. Output is output. What matters most right now is not crossing the line, in any possible sense.

The break from stimulants arrived in November 2025, with the decision to return to Japan carrying only what was essential. There was no plan to work, and traveling is one of the few things that truly keeps me awake. The pills stayed at home. Boarding the plane felt easy, tail wagging like a little dog, knowing none of that would be necessary. And it was not.

The big Q appears when, a week ago, I allowed stimulants back in while working. That is the moment I lift my eyes from the screen, stare at the wall, and form the question internally: if I only need them for this, then should I accept it for what it is, or should everything be set on fire and jōhatsu be considered?

For now, stimulants will continue. Yes. With less frequency, hopefully. A return to the “narcoleptic” episodes? Definitely not.