I looked in the mirror and saw a man who wasn't there

It all started with the fact that I don't exist for the British postal system. From there, and this is rather scary to admit, I've had the dawning realization that the living quarters I'm occupying don't actually seem to exist. Oh, it seems tangible enough: the wall and floors seem quite solid, the traffic noises outside sound convincing, and my convulsions as I wretch every time I pass the fetid, putrid trash heap on the second floor stairs feel real enough. But alas, these are all superficial; merely amateurish parlour tricks just convincing enough to fool most of the populace.

Consider the evidence: I live in a non-descript building that utterly lacks any sort of identifiers that would indicate address or function. The only entrance is a solid green door without a number or name on it, and it lacks even a mail slot or post box anywhere near it. Consequently, nothing I have applied for through the mail has gotten to me yet. I spent £5 on a discount card for the grotesquely over-priced public transit in London. That never arrived. I'm assuming the mailman threw it in the nearest gutter when he realized that no such building existed at the address on the envelope. So the only monetary decrease I've experienced so far has been in my bank account balance, and not in the price of the tube.

Additionally, I applied online for a Tesco club card, anticipating that I would be able to earn points for every one of my purchases at their fine stores. I'm also going to assume that this is lying somewhere near my tube discount card in the gutter. By now I would suspect that the mailman is really starting to hate this "Andy Robinson" bastard who keeps addressing things to a non-existent place. What sort of sick joke is he playing, anyway? I really hope I don't bump into the local postman at the pub one night, because I fear he would challenge me to British fisticuffs if he knew who I was.

On top of this, the computers in the building only have internet access for about five minutes at a time before the router goes down and takes down everything. Yesterday one guy I was in the lab with spent twenty minutes typing up an email and the router went down just as he sent it. Whoopsie! The same thing happened to me, although I had the foresight to copy my text to a word document just in case that happened. Clearly, someone is afraid that if I have access to too much information, the truth may come out...

My initial reaction was to wonder, "Am I in the Matrix?" But that seemed too obvious. I had to dig deeper, I had to continue searching for the answer. What were some clues to my situation? I've long had an inclination towards cartoonish supervillainy, what if there was some power out there that wanted to contain me...perhaps some superpower? Hmm...power...super...superpowers...Great Ceasar's Ghost!!! I've stumbled across it!! I uncovered the horrible secret! Superman has imprisoned me in the Phantom Zone!

I swear that if I ever get out of here, I will make the son of Jor-El kneel before me...