My roommate thinks our apartment is haunted by a poltergeist. I just found out I am the ghost.

I know this sounds like the plot of a dumb sitcom, but I am living in pure humiliation right now. For the past four months my roommate has been convinced our apartment has a ghost. She kept finding kitchen cabinets wide open at 6 AM, cereal boxes sitting in the bathroom sink, and her house keys moved to the freezer. She went full paranormal investigator. She bought sage smudge sticks, lined our doorway with salt, and literally hosted a "cleansing circle" with three of her friends to communicate with the spirit. I thought she was just being paranoid or forgetful. Then on Tuesday night my doctor switched my sleep medication. At 3:30 AM I suddenly snapped awake in total pitch black darkness. I was standing in the hallway wearing only gym shorts, holding an open jar of mayonnaise in one hand and her car keys in the other. My soul left my body. Every single paranormal anomaly for sixteen weeks was just me sleepwalking in an Ambien blackout. I stood there in the dark, staring at the salt line on the floor, realizing that I am the Victorian child haunting our two-bedroom apartment. She has now invited an amateur ghost-hunting group over this weekend with EVP recorders. I have to confess before people start filming my pantry.