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He couldn't describe it. The feeling that his body wasn't his own. But if he really tried, he would have wanted to compare it to sleep paralysis only that he was actually awake and that the nightmares were his reality. He would want to say something that made the other person feel as uneasy as he was. He would want to say anything at all.
What he actually said was that he didn't remember.
The pitying looks and the never ending sympathy was a lot easier to deal with than the disgusted glares and the distrust that would come from the truth. The truth was ugly and it was easier to lie.
But he couldn't lie to himself. The framework was another reality, but he was still him. The other him was still him, no matter how much he denied it. He was as much The Doctor as he was Leo, or Fitz, or any other names he was.
Sure, it was selfish of him to take the hugs and the support he knew he didn't deserve but he knew it was much better to live this lie because even if it wasn't his own mind in the framework, it was still his body, and his soul that made those choices.