My insanity has been lifted by chemical agents designed to erase the depth of my own neurology and environmental needs. I’m not so sure anymore, that sanity is an item of desire, at least for me. The depressing well of immeasurable depth only becomes ever more distant from the outside world as I dive further into this normality that is sanity.
Every day at exactly 6:45AM, I prepare myself for a mundane existence that I have not opted for. I load the washer empty of clothes, and cycle it three to four times or at least until I have cleaned clearly any sense of purpose. I begin to head down my symmetrically perfect hallway and I can feel only memories of my own feet sinking into the carpet. No longer do my senses respond to the endless barrage of duplicated stimuli, my mind, entirely conditioned, and my actions, very much automatic. The neuro-agent mentioned previously is what is known as a central nervous system stimulant. Due to a lack of stimuli in modern life’s everyday events, stimulants are assigned in hopes of equalizing our neurochemical imbalances that result from such a perfect society. Perfection is the unvarying unreality that we hope to achieve, only realizing that our value of perfect changes the instant it is attained.
As I gaze into the bathroom mirror, I see a murky shadow of truth beside my ideals of beauty. Ideals that almost completely mask any trace of that truth, and only after the assigned chemical agents begin to alter my chemistry do the faint traces of the dark truth begin to fade. After repeating these actions numerous times I grow weary, enough so that I begin to gain back my senses. The ending day pressures me to watch 6:35PM television. A modern opium designed by them. Distracting narcotics only to further numb your mind, in order to recover from the fading effects of the chemical agents. Before I forget, I grab another neurochemical. This one, a sedative. And as I sleep at night, my life’s progress seems to be advanced through my dreams, but tragically, only so. The character I build within myself using the eyes of those who are too broken to have a self, slowly churns, not only in my sleep-induced delusions but in my hollow reflection as well. We have all lost ourselves to them: those, who will not. They will not live but only dream, they will not support but only sympathize, and they will not change but only grow. They are us and we does not exist, only they. They are the identity of the masses. By the time we realized the failures of democratic society, we are already committed ourselves to a “free” society run by its citizens. Like communist societies before, and perhaps all forms of government, the power slant between class-divisions grew far.
In our dissociated existence we begin to realize individuality is not a development of your own character, but the reflection of everyone else’s onto you. Only after the mirror shatters are you free from yourself, free from them. But it is our instinctual fears of the dark that keep us avoidant of the truth that lies within. Am I mad to desire back my ill self? If my insanity gives me sight, regardless of how bittersweet, I must see the truth undivided by the false hopes of their dreams. For as long as the world is blinded by its own sanity and its selfish delusions of optimism, it will never progress from the truly hopeless state it resides. Their dreams are nothing more than dark confabulated memories tainted by our subjectivity. Illuminating the darkness only reveals our poisoned souls entrapped by evolutionary needs, and so impossibly so, we all wish to escape this inevitability that is our demise. Strangely, we procrastinate this inevitability and prolong our own suffering.
As my thoughts spiraled out, I began to dream: It seems that lately I am unable to escape what seems to be an endless void of depression. The blade’s edge remains unnervingly close as I walk across this thinning tightrope. I look down to see my past life, a life void of pain, a life that, even when confronted with the most terrifying of events, my body and mind could pull through. I could see all the friends I once had, I could see family and I could see hope. It appeared that everyone who followed me down this path had already fallen. I was all that was left. I looked back up at the tightrope that spanned miles into the deep fog. In both directions I saw no ending, it was a universally symmetrical perspective of everlasting gray. When I looked back at my family and friends beneath me I realized that their fears of losing everything disappeared as they fell to their death. I realized that they now live in peace but also in silence. This silence can no longer be broken but perhaps it was a worthy cost to pay for never-ending peace.
I woke up. We must not forget, our dreams are only false memories, it is only thru darkness that we can acknowledge the truth. Such an idealistic vision of the past couldn’t be true. Or perhaps it was only once true, but darkness is all that remains and it is all that matters. Now such beauty and emotions can only be experienced during our dreams.