I sometimes forget I was ever mad at all. It's usually when I'm in the middle of doing something, talking with people, normal activities of the everyday, spent quite casually. It's as if I've always been sane, that all that darkness was just some nightmare, however long, one that should not be brought to heart nor mind any longer, now that dawn has come, and the day goes forth. But no, the feeling is always brief, and in truth, when I am forgetting the madness, it is me forgetting myself entirely for those moments. Preoccupied with this or that, not self-aware to any real extent. Give me a chance to think, and I am starkly aware that I am damaged goods. My past is no nightmare that washes away in the light; the pain, the frustration, the fear: I felt them the more since I was mad, quite unlike the ether of a dream. To a large extent, my madness made me.
I will always look out these eyes and know that I do not look at the world in the way that most of you out there do. I know, no one does, to a certain extent, see the world like anyone else does, but you know what I mean. I approach life as one who has feared for the existence of his soul; I approach religion as one who has spoken with angels; I approach love as one who once knew the deeper mysteries of the universe. I have climbed out of my pit, but I will always smell of it. But let me not say that this is any worse of a life for it. It is merely... different. As if I were from some other planet, immigrated to Earth, never quite getting accustomed to all the little things that make humans human. And I know there are others out there, too, fellow aliens who look at things with two strange eyes, staring at the world and wondering how it always was thus, so curious.
janventura
9:19am friday, 11th june
hi i suffer from schizophrenia and i just wated to say that what you wrote really touched me. thanks heaps for sharing!!!!
janventura