My Schizophrenia

    What is the point of life when you can’t feel the warmth of normalcy? People look at you differently and they make false assumptions. It’s as if they’re glaring at you through a cracked window and the impression becomes distorted. Forget the rumors, the stereotypes and step into my world for even a moment… you’d feel the pain I’ve felt all these years and it’d be too unbearable for you. You would retreat back into your world in shock and ask; “How Dan? How’d you do it all these years? The service may have rejected you, but you truly do have the perseverance of a soldier.” That may very well be true, but I need to hear it more from the world. I need to hear it. I want someone to walk into my life, grab hold of me and cry… “Dan I hear you!”
     Those of us who suffer mentally, never stop suffering. In the silence of the night I will always hear those voices. Are they just memories being played back in my mind and they just sound real? Or am I truly plagued with insanity? The termites are eating my legs and the whole rotten edifice is about to collapse. I’m falling. I’m crashing into a pile of burning rubble. The debris of my being looted by the sanity of others. I want my pieces gathered and piled into a coffin and given a dark, quiet funeral while it’s raining. At last I’d be given peace. I could just rest in harmony. I’ve seen, heard, felt enough already I feel like an old man. I’m not religious, so don’t bring a priest. Just gather and remember the good things, not the bad, the good I’ve done that most had decided to overlook. Soon this withering soul will cease spinning around in the sandstorm and I’ll be feathered back down to the cold earth. Oh, how cold this world is! Sometimes… only sometimes I’ll scream and the glass cage around me shatters and I’m free. The flame within me too weak for the sane to notice. So, the cold overpowers my flame and a layer of ice encases me. Stiff, rigor mortis, save for my eyes. My eyelids froze open, so now I can watch the world pass by. All the happy people; gifted with sanity. Can one of you put your warm hand on this icy corpse and perhaps thaw one part of me back to life? I didn’t think so...

Goodbye…