The unchanging nature itself is enough on its own to drive someone to the brink of madness, and yet, I am insane. I am told this as a truth, an undeniable fact of my existence.
But why am I insane?
DAY VI
Why am I insane?
I don’t exactly know the answer to that. My sister came into my room one day and found me staring at the wall. When she asked why I was acting so “oddly,” I answered truthfully, “The walls were bending; I wanted to see what was wrong with them.” This really puts a spin on the common phrase “the truth will set you free,” now doesn’t it? When she told our parents about what I said, they sent me away from the house. Apparently, that is not a normal thing to experience. My honesty about the situation, according to them, was only a further indication of my own insanity. But why am I insane?
DAY XI
Why am I insane?
Today, I overheard two of them talking about my “mental” process. They mentioned something about the way I reasoned and thought about the world. They said it was unlike any other cases they had documented. Is this what makes me insane? Am I so vastly different from the other people in the world that I must be separated? Am I told I suffer from insanity because my reality varies significantly from what is normal? Even so, why does this make me insane? People have differences all the time: political views, movie and song preferences, and even our senses of humor differ. Every individual claims that he is right in his own reality, and people are told that opinions matter, yet I am the one who is insane.
But why am I insane?
LOYOLA
BLAKEFIELD
LITARTMAG
2014
29