It was day one in uncharted territory. The rules of the experiment were simple. He was to spend 30 days alone in a cabin in the woods without access to the outside world. If the man were to step outside of the cabin before the end of the 30^th day, then the experiment would be deemed a failure, and he would go home with, at best, only a fraction of the money he was promised, depending on how long he could make it. It was a test of endurance. A test to see how long the human mind can survive in total isolation, with no access to any form of modern-day technology, like the Internet or television, and no cell phone. It could almost be described as inhumane, but he was informed of the terms of the experiment beforehand, so he knew what he was getting into. At least, that was what he told himself.  

There was little he was allowed to do in the cabin to keep himself preoccupied. He was given dozens of books to read and a deck of cards that he could play solitaire with, but that was the extent of the activities he was allowed to indulge in. The cabin did include a refrigerator, but it contained little more than the essentials like fruits, vegetables, and water. He didn't have a means of making meals out of what was in that fridge, not that he was a particularly great cook anyway. Instead, people would be stopping by every day to slide in meals through a pet door, as well as some items to restock the fridge with when he was running low. At the very least, they promised him that he would be given a variety of meals based on his recommendations, and the refrigerator would allow him to preserve and ration his food. Thankfully, the cabin also included a microwave, so heating his leftover meals wouldn’t be an issue.

As for hygiene, the cabin included a functioning bathroom with indoor plumbing and a shower, as well as enough toilet paper to last for 30 days. He would also be given fresh clothes through the pet door regularly, so he thankfully wouldn’t have to worry about being stuck in the same dirty clothes for the entire month. Apart from that, he was also provided with toothpaste, toothbrushes, dental floss, and even razors for personal grooming. In theory, he had everything he needed to ensure that his personal cleanliness wouldn’t have to deteriorate, despite his time in isolation.

As he stepped into the cabin, the test conductor who accompanied him to his temporary new “home” closed the door behind him without saying a word. That was meant to be the last time he would have contact with another person for the next month. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed in his mind. It was at that moment that he questioned why he agreed to do this. What was he thinking? Being confined to a single cabin for an entire month sounded like self-inflicted torture. How could any human being endure what he had just willingly agreed to? He examined his surroundings, making note of the interior of the cabin, which appeared well-built and sturdy. He looked at what appeared to be a digital timer on the wall, which the conductors installed so he could conveniently keep track of his entire 30-day period of isolation.

Naturally, the first day wasn’t exactly difficult for him. The cabin was spacious enough to allow him to move and pace around to pass the time, and it also had air conditioning, so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting a heat stroke. The bed was also comfortable and full-sized, so he could freely sleep whenever he wanted without having to worry about cricks or a sore back. If anything, being allowed to sleep for as long as he wanted without having to get up early for work would surely inspire envy in the average American worker. Furthermore, not being plugged into the Internet or the news seemed like it could have its perks as well. He could remain blissfully unaware of current events, and the never-ending cycle of toxicity that came with it. That almost sounded like an ideal life for him. Perhaps this was manageable? Or perhaps he was telling himself that as a coping mechanism before the reality of the situation would set in.

The food they dropped in through the door on the first day seemed perfectly acceptable, if not especially fancy. It was a generic “Asian dish,” that consisted of noodles with beef, steamed vegetables, and a side of brown rice. Not exactly a five-star meal, but he was never a particularly high-maintenance eater. The food at least looked edible, and as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers. He sat in the darkly lit kitchen and took his time with his meal. He was generally a slow eater, but it’s not like he was in a rush. As he sat at the kitchen table silently eating, he couldn’t help but wonder what the next 29 days had in store for him. This life was going to be his new routine for the foreseeable future. It was a bizarre thing to consider, almost surreal in fact. Can a human being endure such an unnatural way of life? The only thing he could tell himself was that he needed to get used to this if he wanted to make it to the end.

By the fifth day, reality had sunken in; life in isolation was boring and monotonous. Sure, he had books to read, but they were finite. He was never a particularly slow reader, but for the sake of keeping his mind busy, he tried to make sure to read as slowly as possible, absorbing every word on the pages. It was a tedious practice, but the goal was to keep his mind preoccupied. He was provided with the books that he requested. His selection included works of fiction from a decent variety of genres, whether it was science fiction, thriller, dramedy, and even horror. In addition, he also requested the works of philosophers such as Albert Camus, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Jean-Paul Sartre. He always had a fascination with philosophy and liked educating himself on various viewpoints about the nature of the human condition. He always strived to have a deeper perspective on the world than the average person. He liked to think it made him enlightened.

Unfortunately, by day 10, the cracks in his state of mind had become apparent. What was previously boredom had increasingly morphed into anxiety, before escalating into panic. He felt as though he was slowly going insane from the lack of stimulus, like an animal living in a cage. Unlike an animal, however, he did technically have a choice. He could opt out of the experiment whenever he wanted, which was a thought that became more tempting to him with each day that passed. At the same time though, there was a part of him that didn’t want to do that. A part of him that was far too stubborn to accept “defeat.” What would he have to show for himself if he failed to see this through to the end? It was two halves of himself in constant debate with one another. He almost felt as though he was losing his sanity, which may very well have been the case. Ultimately, the part of him that chose to stay seemed to win for the time being. Just 20 more days to go, he thought to himself.

As he woke up from what felt like either a ruthless hangover or a month-long coma, he checked the timer on the wall. The days had all blended for him at that point, so he had no clue how long it had been, but it seemed like an eternity. To his horror, he saw that it was 6:17 A.M., day 12 of his isolation. He felt his jaw drop. He rubbed his eyes to make sure his mind wasn’t playing some cruel trick on him, but sadly, no matter how many times he tried to clear his vision, the date on the timer remained the same. How could that be possible? How could so little time have passed for him when he felt as though he had been confined in that cabin for weeks now? He crouched onto the floor with an empty stare, as if he were in a trance. After a few minutes, he began mumbling incoherently to himself. It wasn’t long before he forgot why he was even there in the first place. He tried his best to recall how he ended up in this situation, but it kept slipping away as though he were trying to remember some abstract dream that he had last night.

It didn’t even occur to him that he had the option of ending the experiment anytime by signaling to the test conductors that he couldn’t take anymore. He had become so entrenched in his predicament that he had seemingly lost any sense of reasoning. As far as he was concerned, this was his home. This was his life, as monotonous as it was. Eventually, however, there was only so much he could take before his brain resorted to a classic defense mechanism, escapism.

As a result of his boredom and lack of stimuli, his mind retreated into the realm of fantasy and daydreaming. He spent the bulk of his time imagining that his life was something it wasn’t. He imagined what life would’ve been like if he had enough money to the point where he wouldn’t have to work a day in his life. He pictured himself traveling across the world, visiting historic landmarks, experiencing various cultures, and even being a philosopher himself, one who would share his wisdom with others. It was a cozy and idealized life for him, but deep down, he knew such a life was virtually impossible. He lived in the real world, not some idealized fantasy, and yet, fantasizing about it seemed to be the only thing that gave him comfort. It allowed him to forget about the harsh reality of the real world. What was wrong with a bit of escapism, after all? Isn’t escapism the primary reason people consume various forms of entertainment in the first place?

As he became more absorbed in his fantasies, one thing was apparent; his physical condition was rapidly deteriorating. He was eating less frequently, despite the meals that continued to be dropped through the door regularly. He also no longer paid attention to his hygiene. He had stopped shaving and showering, his appearance becoming increasingly dirty and disheveled, with long blackened fingernails and an unruly greyish beard. Much of his time was spent sitting on the floor, staring at the ground, while occasionally fidgeting and rocking back and forth. He would loudly mumble to himself as he daydreamed, envisioning that he was having conversations with other people.

There was perhaps no greater testament to the toll that his isolation had taken on him, which had of course caught the attention of the test conductors. At this point, a simple conclusion had been reached; he had enough. It was time to end the experiment.

Once the experiment came to a premature end, about four or five people walked into the cabin and approached the man, who was still crouched on the floor and oblivious to his surroundings. The people who entered the cabin attempted to speak to him and assess his condition, but he was unresponsive. His face maintained a blank, almost dead expression as if he were stuck in a trance. Perhaps he was too far gone by that point and found that his imagination was a more appealing reality. Or maybe he was simply dazed from his extended period of isolation and needed time to adjust. In any case, at that moment, it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to return to reality, even as they were escorting him out of the prison he had been confined to for what felt like an eternity. Yes, a “prison.” There was perhaps no better way to describe this uncharted territory.