Realm of Realism (Schizophrenia)

The Path of Uncertainty    
     I know this path. This is a path that I’ve walked before. It’s a dark one with an indeterminate end. Me, myself and I then think there are some things that are just kept better quiet. I don’t want to be quiet anymore. I want to leave this arctic realm of realism, lower my foot into the warm bath water of surrealism, and be home! Here, I am no one. There, I am someone. Oh, how I hate gazing into the mirror. May as well be prison bars between my Utopian realm and this one. I’ll raise my hand to the glass and the figure in the reflection follows. Then we join palms, then a ripple in the glass. All I must do is step through, press my convictions of liberation through the surface. Here, comes the end of this psychotic episode. I come to. Look away from the mirror and see a realist’s realm full of glares from strangers. I was in the middle of a store and it was humiliating. This path that would have to be trodden in a dark forest would surely mean my death. Reality’s forest is callous, frigid and dark. The trees have no leaves, only sharp branches. The sun does not feel close, rather a distant glow. I can bunch up as much as I want to but I’m still freezing. And those eyes of strangers! Oh, yes, those eyes themselves are plundering daggers! Inflicting very real amounts of crippling pain to my soul. So, I take a deep breath, turn back to the stranger in the mirror, and speak to him,  
     “I’m ready to step into the mirror and see the utopia my mind has created” I say.
A tear then falls down the stranger’s face.

     Mirrors on both sides, I watch myself in the realm of realism decaying of misery. I just watch this man standing there whom I know, though don’t. Who’s he becoming? Humiliated in his posture, he breathes because he must move one step further out of the reflection. But he doesn’t make a move, he just stares back at me.
     “I’m ready.”