At first, the delusions and hallucinations were mild. They started with just one – a boy, handsome and young. The first night I saw him, I was at the circus. Alfred – the only one who remained with me the whole time – had advised me to take the night off from my heroism. Sometimes I guess I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't taken his advice. Would I still be sitting in Arkham, talking about this? The doctors tell me yes, but... I always do wonder.
Anyway...
Thus, Robin was born. My trusty side-kick and all-around best friend. Even if he had been real, that probably wasn't really a healthy thing to begin with. I was in my twenties, and he was only a teenager. But I never could connect with people my age. Even in college where I was surrounded by people just like me – rich, snobby, motivated, and intelligent. I never seemed to be able to fit in. I don't really know what I wanted. I guess it was too much, since I never really got it. I guess I was just looking for someone who could understand me inside and out. The only one of my delusions that even came close was Jack.
When I woke up in Arkham the first time, tied down with a wooden bit in my mouth wrapped in cotton with what felt like a thousand volts going through my brain cells, I still saw them next to me. At first, my delusions were separate people all together. By the time I ended up in Arkham, I was seeing their faces on actual people. Of course, that made me look a bit crazy – which would explain how I ended up in the crazy house. But anyway. I guess the point is just that... well... the psychosis... it developed over time.
I didn't really have such a great grip on my own feelings or reality at all. Eventually it just sort of deteriorated. I mean, Alfred was all in support of my becoming a hero vigilante, looking out for Gotham. I did go through all the training. I definitely didn't make that up; you can ask any bank robber in the city about that. When the super villains started showing up, though, I guess... I guess my mind was just sort of... crumbling under the pressure.
The doctor told me that basically my mind couldn't handle the pressure of reality and that I created those personalities to just... deal. I don't know if that's really true or not, but... I guess it gave me something to do. I felt important, like Gotham actually needed me. Alfred says the city still does – even if there aren't any super villains running around to make me seem important.
It freaked me out, at first, when the doctors told me. "They're not real, Bruce," the doctor sighed. Eventually I believed the doctors at Arkham, but I thought it was cruel joke of course. "JACK!" I screamed. "I know you're behind this. I'm not scared of you!"
It only really hit home when Alfred – nearly crying, the poor old guy! - looked at me sadly and whispered, "Jack isn't real, Master Wayne. Jack is... He's just a part of your imagination." I didn't handle that so hot. Actually, I threw some tables over and screamed a whole lot. Apparently, most of the patients in Arkham heard me. Anyway, they doped me full of Thorazine and I passed out on the floor. I woke up strapped to a gurney in an isolated room with walls of steel-gray concrete.
I didn't cry until then. I couldn't see him, I realized. He always found me. Always. Whether I was in some broken down building or alone in my room or on top of Wayne Enterprises. He was always there. Jack always found his way to me, somehow. Alone in that room, though, he wasn't there. I guess I just sort of knew, even if I didn't really want to believe it. The Joker – the crazy man I'd given my past few years to – wasn't real. I couldn't understand it.
"Paranoid schizophrenia with delusions of grandeur."
Gee, thanks, Doc! Now, I'll admit to the paranoid schizophrenia. I understand my condition now and I get it. I know. But I dunno about those delusions of grandeur. I feel that God gave me a purpose in life – to do whatever I can to protect people – but I also feel he gave every other human being that same calling. We should all look out for each other, but I have a leg up, so more is expected of me. I've been trained. I have the brain and the education to be better suited for the job. But I certainly don't think God sent me as the one and only solution. I just know I have to keep protecting people if I can. Without the Joker to push me on, it's hard to see what's right in front of me. It's hard to see my purpose in life. When he was here – when I could see him – he led me on.
As bad as that is, though, the hardest part is knowing that all those nights, I was really making love to myself. To my own imagination. To nothing.