Cotard Syndrome - A Fictional Account

     My name is David True.
     I'm dead.
     Not dead in the traditional sense. I'm not a zombie or reanimated corpse. It's just, one day I woke up and realized I was dead.
     It all started about a year ago. See, I tried to kill myself. It wasn't anything personal against the world, I just didn't really want to live anymore. Well, it's more complicated than that, it always is, but this isn't a story about how I got to where I was then. It's about how I got to being dead. So it started with when I was found in my bathtub by a nosy neighbor, life swirling away down the drain. Police officers, ambulance, lots of flashing lights. It was kind of surreal, the hustle and bustle going on that seemed to be at hyper speed. The voices speaking but seeming to far away, so slow and tedious. Then the oxygen mask, the dullness of my forearms.
     I got out of course. They patched me up and sent me off to get my brain repaired. I did, to some degree, and then I went home. Three days later I woke up and realized I no longer had a brain, that I was dead.
     Again, my nosy neighbor couldn't stay away, and found me slowly wasting away on the couch. I wasn't really wasting yet, but I had stopped eating, stopped cleaning myself, stopped everything. I was dead, y'know? What was the point? I asked him to just take me to the mortuary, that I wanted to be with other dead people, but instead he called 911. Again.
     This time, I got escorted by police, no ambulance for me. They kept looking at me like I was crazy, with a weird sort of bemusement. My brain was just gone. I knew, I knew my brain was no longer in my skull, but they refused to believe me.
     "David, how can you be dead if you're talking to me right now?" The psychiatrists asked. I tried to explain it to them as well. Eventually they got fed up, frustrated. Hey, I was frustrated too! I didn't know how I could be walking, talking, breathing with no brain, but I knew I didn't have one. Let the experts figure it out! Eventually, phone calls were made. That was when Dr. Mulligan came into the picture.
     Mulligan ordered a PET scan of my brain and set to work. A barrage of tests came before the PET, but that was the scan that convinced them I had a point. After all, it turned out I had metabolic activity in my brain comparable to someone in a vegetative state. Mind you, I'm fairly certain I don't have a brain, but everyone else seems convinced that I do. Mulligan told me I was a phenomenon. Apparently my brain function resembles that of someone asleep, or under anesthesia, but I'm awake. Me? I'm pretty sure I'm dead.
     They've been pumping me full of drugs since them, keep putting me into this or that therapy They're forcing me to live in a psych ward. The last time they let me go home, I just went back to how I was. I'm dead! There's no point in eating or moving or grooming anymore. But they keep on trying, say they'll get me back to functioning soon enough. I'm tired of being force fed though. Tired in general.
     What I don't understand is, why am I the only one who knows I'm dead?