Paranoia

My purpose in writing now is the same as it has always been: to keep myself in a sane state of mind. Now, the problem with jotting down every little detail of my insanity is that madness, in and of itself, is something that tends to spread, the more people talk about it. The fact that I am able to understand and empathize with the often frightening, disorienting, and delusional paranoia that accompanies insanity makes me think twice about doing such a thing. You know, for your sake.

But there's a catch, of course. Staying completely silent, both in tongue and in pen, means that my own mental claustrophobia can set in at any point. That's not good. Hitting that stage sends my mind into a panicked sort of place, where confusion reigns above every sensible, rational emotion, and my perception is skewed and often chaotic in its conclusions. Do you know what I am saying? I lose control. Nothing I do, say, think, feel is a decision on my part. I become something completely unrecognizable to myself. And, coincidentally, so does the rest of the world.

Solitude

Space. Time. Breathe in. Breathe out. Begin again. Ask questions directed at the silence inside your room and heart and mind. Do you expect answers? Of course you don't. Answers are make-believe here, figments of your imagination created in order to fill an emptiness born of both desire and hopelessness. You know the truth; secretly, we all do. Humans, by nature, are constant seekers of answers, but we are neither sincere enough, nor strong enough, to seek until we find. We settle. Always, we attempt at contentedness when surrounded by lies fabricated inside of ourselves. Such lack of understanding will doom us in the end, don't you think? So just wallow there, in your silence and in your solitude, and forget your questions. Forget God, forget yourself, forget the world, and its people and their problems. Forget time, space, matter, existence -- and simply die. Die, just like the rest of us. You'll soon see how easy it is.