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Literature Text
What frightens me most is when something is off.
The surreal realisation that something isn't quite right. The subtle, creeping thought. A chair in the wrong place. Plates in the wrong cupboard. My face in the mirror changed slightly. Not even noticing at first. A shadow that is too long or too short. Finding friends behaving oddly. Not knowing why. A person with eyes that are too far apart. The man without arms. The woman with no legs. The veteren with his skull caved in. Wrong. Incorrect. Abberant. The curtain moving without a breeze, the stain you remember washing out. The conversations that never happend. The glimpse of 'this-is-not-right'.
My second greatest fear is the thought that nothing is real.
My meories are fake. All the evidence of reality is of my own creation, the photos, the furniture. I am trapped in my own delusions. Alone. Every conversation I wonder if it's real. It doesn't feel real. What is real? How can I tell? How does the Dreamer know he is Dreaming? Can I wake up? No. There is no waking. This is the trap I made and there is no key. My mother is in the other room. Of course she is. I just have to get up and see her... But maybe she isn't there. Maybe I don't have a mother. Maybe I don't have anyone. I am alone in a wasteland. Isolated. Alone. Pain is real, so the walls I hit must be too. They have to be. Is pain real? I can counjour any emotion I need. Can I conjour pain? Am I alone? She is in the next room. I'll prove it. Can madmen trust their memories? I am alone.
My third greatest fear is that I am not Me.
I have anger issues. I can manage it fine. That's not the problem. It's what happens to Me when the rage takes over. Me is a rational person, Me weighs Her options and acts accordingly. The Rage changes Me forcing Me behave in ways I cannot rationalise or explain. I make choices that are foriegn to my being. I am not Me. Another Me has taken control, Another Me is alien and bestial. Or is Another Me the 'real' Me? Am I the alien? Me cannot control Herself. Herself isn't Myself, it is Another Me's self. Another Me is angry and impatient, Another Me enjoys hurting others. Other people are obtascles or enemies. I watch as Another Me chases her prey, I feel Our face twist. It is not my face; my face is calm. I am not Her. I can't be.
But I am. I am the one chasing, I am the one with the weapon. I am Me. Aren't I? The terror of self-doubt. That You are not You. That the abberant behaviours are your true self. The Red Cloud is you without the mask of civility.
My three greatest fears are contructs of my mind. They all have the same root. The doubt of reality. The pschosis of the self. Everything is a Lie. There is no Truth. You are not You. And I do not exist. Therefore I am Alone.
The surreal realisation that something isn't quite right. The subtle, creeping thought. A chair in the wrong place. Plates in the wrong cupboard. My face in the mirror changed slightly. Not even noticing at first. A shadow that is too long or too short. Finding friends behaving oddly. Not knowing why. A person with eyes that are too far apart. The man without arms. The woman with no legs. The veteren with his skull caved in. Wrong. Incorrect. Abberant. The curtain moving without a breeze, the stain you remember washing out. The conversations that never happend. The glimpse of 'this-is-not-right'.
My second greatest fear is the thought that nothing is real.
My meories are fake. All the evidence of reality is of my own creation, the photos, the furniture. I am trapped in my own delusions. Alone. Every conversation I wonder if it's real. It doesn't feel real. What is real? How can I tell? How does the Dreamer know he is Dreaming? Can I wake up? No. There is no waking. This is the trap I made and there is no key. My mother is in the other room. Of course she is. I just have to get up and see her... But maybe she isn't there. Maybe I don't have a mother. Maybe I don't have anyone. I am alone in a wasteland. Isolated. Alone. Pain is real, so the walls I hit must be too. They have to be. Is pain real? I can counjour any emotion I need. Can I conjour pain? Am I alone? She is in the next room. I'll prove it. Can madmen trust their memories? I am alone.
My third greatest fear is that I am not Me.
I have anger issues. I can manage it fine. That's not the problem. It's what happens to Me when the rage takes over. Me is a rational person, Me weighs Her options and acts accordingly. The Rage changes Me forcing Me behave in ways I cannot rationalise or explain. I make choices that are foriegn to my being. I am not Me. Another Me has taken control, Another Me is alien and bestial. Or is Another Me the 'real' Me? Am I the alien? Me cannot control Herself. Herself isn't Myself, it is Another Me's self. Another Me is angry and impatient, Another Me enjoys hurting others. Other people are obtascles or enemies. I watch as Another Me chases her prey, I feel Our face twist. It is not my face; my face is calm. I am not Her. I can't be.
But I am. I am the one chasing, I am the one with the weapon. I am Me. Aren't I? The terror of self-doubt. That You are not You. That the abberant behaviours are your true self. The Red Cloud is you without the mask of civility.
My three greatest fears are contructs of my mind. They all have the same root. The doubt of reality. The pschosis of the self. Everything is a Lie. There is no Truth. You are not You. And I do not exist. Therefore I am Alone.
So I recieved anotice about Edgar Allen Poe. The very last sentance was a request to tell them what scared us the most. This is my answer in full.
I often suffer periods of Disassociation, the feeling of being cut-off from reality. Like watching a movie.
During one of my bouts of Depression I stopped attending college, never going out. I spent entire weeks at home. Alone. Only myself and a few people online to talk to. I waited for my mother and sister to come home every day. I never told them how relieved I was to see them. To have proof they were real.
The need to prove my memories were real drove me to go back to college, evetually forcing myself there every day ended my depression. I never want to be that way ever again.
So thank you MisterWolfe and Kasverah. You two kept me sane those mad weeks. I don't know how bad I would have gotten without you.
Thank you DA for providing an outlet for my fear and an escape from my mind. Every funny comic and amazing picture relieved my stress and inspired me to create.
I often suffer periods of Disassociation, the feeling of being cut-off from reality. Like watching a movie.
During one of my bouts of Depression I stopped attending college, never going out. I spent entire weeks at home. Alone. Only myself and a few people online to talk to. I waited for my mother and sister to come home every day. I never told them how relieved I was to see them. To have proof they were real.
The need to prove my memories were real drove me to go back to college, evetually forcing myself there every day ended my depression. I never want to be that way ever again.
So thank you MisterWolfe and Kasverah. You two kept me sane those mad weeks. I don't know how bad I would have gotten without you.
Thank you DA for providing an outlet for my fear and an escape from my mind. Every funny comic and amazing picture relieved my stress and inspired me to create.
© 2011 - 2024 Onsheka
Comments23
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<3 I'm still alive. Visiting old ground and all that jazz. (Also, guess who developed dissociative disorder! It me XD I get what you mean in this post so much more now.)