All of this, everything I have known in my life, has been distorted.
What I knew or, rather, thought I knew, was never true. They tell me it was all a dream, and now I can believe that. Now I can understand that it truly was nothing more than a dream, a twisted fantasy that I mistook for reality.
Even now I find the fact that none of it was real difficult to believe. I saw all of it in some way, whether it was through my mind or not, and I cannot easily throw out what I have for so long believed. After all, people that are real don't simply fade away in moments. Why should it be any different with people whom I believed were real?
Charles, Marcee, even Parcher They never really existed, not in the way that most humans define existence. They were figments of an imagination I never knew I had, products of my own mind. Even so, they remain with me, and I cannot rid myself of the memories. I've known them, if only in my mind, for quite a while. I can no more dismiss them than I can Alicia.
Alicia. She wants me to forget them. She wants to help, but I think, I know, that she doesn't and never will fully understand what I feel, what I see, what my mind is. I find it to be highly unlikely that anyone who as never been touched by schizophrenia can truly understand it.
Even so, she tries. She puts up with me, puts up with my silence and even my outbursts. Without her I would be lost, perhaps gone. There are times that she wants out, and I cannot blame her. If it were possible, I would get out myself. However, I'm stuck with me.
She isn't, but she stays by my side. I can see the pain that occasionally appears in her eyes, and I want to wipe it out. I want to tell her that everything will be okay, that we can go back to what we were, what we had. I wish we could go back to that, but know that it is, after all, impossible.
Impossible because of what I've become, or what I was. The both of us have been through more than going back allows, and we know it. Maybe, though, maybe there's a chance to find something in the future, to make something. Now that I understand, now that I can admit the truth, see the truth, maybe there's a chance. I need to be able to put it in the past, though. I need to disown everything that I thought was, and I need to forget.
I've tried to forget, honestly. That process, however, would mean losing everything I've ever known. I don't know how I can do that. How can I erase so much of what I've known? How can I wipe out the slate, how can I make it blank once more? How can I begin anew?
Along with that, how can I discover what was lost to me? Or am I to live without knowing what happened? There are hazy memories of reality in my mind, and there are pieces of my history that are in my mind entirely false. How do I sort the reality from the dream? How do I discover what I missed while I was in my mind?
So much of what I remember doesn't fit with what is real, with what I can now see. I remember discovering encoded messages in clippings from magazines. These seem to hold no correlation with the scraps of paper that have been strewn randomly throughout the shed, as well as my old office, covered with symbols that seem completely nonsensical.
I remember things that never were, events that never occurred. I remember being tagged with an implant, but no trace of the tag can be found in my arm. I remember sharing a room with Charles, but according to the records I had a room to myself. I remember being tailed and shot at by men in ominous black cars, but I suppose that never happened, either.
The mere fact that these occurrences never were does absolutely nothing to sooth my soul or, for that matter, my mind. I can still feel shadows of the panic I felt in the car as the bullets punctured the glass of the window. I can remember Parcher handing me a gun, and I can remember recoiling at the thought of shooting someone, can remember the stark fear that rushed through my veins as I watched Parcher fire the gun. The gun that never was in the car that never was.
So much that never was, and I didn't realize it for so long. How much of my life was spent in the dream world? I don't know. I don't suppose that anyone knows, for that matter. It's been for a while. In school, even, with Charles. How much time did I spend talking to a man who was never really there, a man whom I can still somehow see? How often did I speak to someone who wasn't really there?
How often did they watch me and wonder? My classmates, those around me What did they see? Did they understand? I suppose not We were all on the singular side of the spectrum, and were allowed to act eccentrically without much questioning of our behavior.
I never saw anything peculiar about my own behavior. I saw everything that occurred, even that which was only in my mind, as if it were real. The others may have seen signs of what was wrong with my mind, but I did not. All of it was real to me, all completely rational.
Somehow I managed to build a barrier, to move through the world despite my illness. I lived in a crystal palace, a world in which I felt as if I saw everything clearly, as it was. The crystal made everything clear, made it all real. In the palace I could feel as if I knew everything, as if everything was as it should be.
However, the crystal was just that, crystal, and it was distorted.
Doctor Rosen says that medication will make it better, that it'll help to cure my illness. Perhaps it will help to calm the schizophrenia, but it will bring on other problems, as it did last time. There's always a side effect, isn't there? That seems to be the way life goes.
He says that the medication is the only way, but I don't want to believe that. I can believe that what I saw wasn't real, but I cannot bring myself to believe that medicine is the only way out. I don't want to go through the damnable process of the medicine. I don't want to spend the rest of my life taking those pills, being forced into shock therapy. I cannot stand it. Cannot stand the very idea, and cannot stand the effects on my life outside of schizophrenia.
He tells me that without the medication I'll become worse. Worse? How much difference is there between insanity and feeling dulled by the medication to an extent where all so-called "normal" action seems impossible?
There must be another way. If the problem is in my mind, can I not find a way out? Doctor Rosen says that I cannot. He says that because that is where the problem is, it cannot be fixed through the mind. I'd like to give it a try, though. I feel that I can do it, that I can conquer that which he believes I cannot conquer.
My mind. I am to be forced against my own mind while working for it. Is that possible? Perhaps. I can hope, I can pray, and maybe, hopefully, I will find out that it is possible. After all, I was told that all things are indeed possible. I must find truth in that.
I know that Doctor Rosen doesn't trust my judgment on this, but I believe that he'll let me give it a try, if I prove that I want to. I can see that he is reluctant to let me; he believes that more time without medication will only set me back further. I can see rationalization for his view, but I refuse to support it. After all, it is my life.
I can only hope that Alicia will support my decision. If she won't, then I have no chance and no choice. If she has me committed again, my arguments will do me no good. My rights will be gone, and I will be forced to return to the infernal hospital.
Then what? We'll be right back to where we were, with the both of us unhappy and with myself unable to help. I cannot stand that. I want to avoid that at all costs, and I want Alicia to realize that. I need her to realize it.
I believe that I can make myself realize the true difference between reality and what my mind shows me. All I need is time to work it out, time to think it through. My mind is presenting me with a problem, a problem that I intend to find a solution for. A problem that I know I can find a solution for, if I am allowed to try.
I believe that I can conquer my crystal palace.