Truman was having a terrible time adjusting to real life after escaping the show. He had a lot of nightmares. The hairs on the back of his neck always stood straight up, as if he felt cameras watching his every move. He checked all corners of your house when you invited him to stay with you — you had been his closest friend on the show before you were fired, of course.

The fact of the matter is, Truman was traumatized. He was terrified. He was restless, and a lot of the times, he’d accuse you of secretly recording him no matter how many times you swore he was safe. Truman rarely even went outside since the whole world knew him.

But he barely knew himself. He only knew what had been orchestrated through the show. He knew nothing of what his stolen life could have been.

And sometimes, Truman would wake up in a cold sweat, or press his hands on hot burners, or stand in the rain for extended periods of time. Anything to feel. And on every single one of those occasions, like right now as he sits in the snow wearing nothing but his underwear, he’ll ask you:

“Am I real?”