If we was doing it to ourselves, this ill(del)usion, this simulacra of life and sensation, what consciousness was we escaping? Was it deliberate, accidental, enforced...?
One of the few things we can know, truly know through reason alone is that I Am. Not so sure about you - you might be. You might not. Reason doesn't go that far. But I know that I am because there is a me to think. Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am, I think.
I might be me.
I might be living in a dream state imposed by an external consciousness, in which case there is a you. Maybe not you, but someone. A Not Me.
I might be a figment of my own imagination, in which case you are me. Not you. So you are my fault. I can blame me for your mistakes.
Why did I create this imaginary world? Was the world I was in very boring? Or very dangerous? Am I asleep? Do I want to wake up?
If I am a figment of my own imagination, creating this existence from inside my mind, I am god. I make the stars and the capybaras and the odd socks. Or at least I make the idea of stars and capybaras and odd socks. Why did I make fridge magnets in the shape of American states, though? I move in mysterious ways. I think.