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| There is a notebook on my bedside table. It's been there for over a year, but entries are erratic and inconsistent.
Reading through it is not easy. My writing scares myself; every word is scrawled with hate, apathy and indifference.
My most recent entry:
I no longer want to die.
This is the best thing I have thought in a long while.
I don't think I'll be returning here.
I am the most secure and happy I have ever been in my life. I don't hate myself, I don't want to kill myself. Quite the contrary.
And as much as I love you all and your beautiful words, coming back here just reminds me of how I used to be. And I have to do everything in my power to prevent that.
I hope you all realise how beautiful you are. And I wish you all the luck in the world.
Goodbye.
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| Bathos. After the past six months of tumultuous emotional upheaval, I feel as if I'm standing at the helm of a broken and battered vessel and I'm feeling tepid water with my toes, touching a vacuum of stale air with my tongue; nothing to fear, entering a realm of flat apathy. Hot-blooded reds, wicked blues, startling yellows; they've blended together, negating themselves, forming a vague and inoffensive grey.
I'm relieved, in a way. Although, waiting for the days to pass is awfully tiring when time has stopped.
'No one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky.'
Tell me everything that's happened since I've been away. I love hearing about you all. Tell me about the moments that have made you the saddest, the happiest; those you've loved, those you've hated. The largest and the tiniest of things.
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The rolled-up Dali cards are laced with ketamine.
I saw an army of pin people. He grew a triangular chin,
and the Blue fairy placed me back safely in my conscious mind.
We poured green tablets into the bath to make bubbles
and cut our legs,
green and red mixing together
making sludge.
The bleeding wouldn't stop.
This was the triggering incident, the doubting spark. I cracked. I dissociated. I do not know whether I let go of the world, or the world let of me; or perhaps the world was never really there at all. This isn’t due to alcohol, or ketamine, or any dissociative intoxicant. This was a purely sober and conscious experience. I sat on the train, thinking, looking at the faces but never really looking. And I realised I was not really there. They were not really there. I could not locate a reality. I could not differentiate between reality and fantasy, imagination, falseness. The world could have crumbled at my feet, melted into the iron floor; their faces could have transformed and contorted into the imaginary; I imagined aliens landing, breaking through the televised screen in front of my eyes that displayed an endless manufactured reality. Nothing would have shocked me.
But what irritates me, confuses me the most is this persistent façade of normalcy. Because in the end, nothing happened. Aliens didn’t appear. The world does not fall. Everything that makes sense happens. Logic reigns, everything is programmed to work in compliance with a rational, real world. It’s such a beautifully made, perfect, flawless artifice.
I would be sane if only reality would crack.
I would be sane if only the world were not.
Occasionally, it aggravates and confuses me so much that my mind even begins to trick me. Nothing is real; nothing feels real, and my mind is so convinced of this fact that I see things that aren’t there. Except I know I’m not really seeing them; my mind will simply confuse signals, physiological impulses or whatever biological things are involved in this process, making me see a contorted monster for a bag. The floor will move. Figures will dance on walls. I’ll confuse dreams for reality.
I’m so desparate to find the truth, or the untruth, that I try to create a manufactured surreality. Alcohol and ketamine distort the world, turn it on its head, to reveal what I want to be true.
But all that’s only momentary. Transient. Essentially, inescapably, false.
But I don’t feel insane. I am rational. I am not psychotic; I am still to an extent confined by moral and social codes, empathy and propriety, that stop me from behaving insane and being unable to function.
A sane mind, trapped in an insane world, that’s under a resilient pretence of sanity.
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