insanity in layman's terms
---in which a boy on pills sees giant bunny rabbits--
The plot of my life is this: nothing.
Stories and words and goddamn madness spin together to form nothing. Nothing that matters, nothing worth mentioning, nothing nothing nothing nothing.
Pointless and endless and short all at once, and I have nothing to do with it except that I'm here and I'm now and it just happens to be my life but I'm not there at all.
A sister of my body (...) plays music across the hall and through the walls. An angry chick sings about how she hates herself for loving ME but it's not ME she's talking to it's THE AIR AND IT'S NOT ME NOT ME NOT ME GODDAMNIT!
This house and this place and everything everything everything floats around without any lasting effect and no one cares and everyone dies and no one lives long enough to see anything they've done...like Picasso or Van Gogh or Magritte or Dali goddamnit they're dead and they're not seeing their art in museums admired by everyone but it's pointless, so pointless because the world will end any day any hour any minute any second---!
--i will not put these pills in my mouth--i will not i will not i will not---!
I know and Frank knows and Grandma fucking Death knows that no one will make it and we are all DYING ALONE!
"Donnie," comes her voice from down the stairs. "Donnie, did you remember to take your pills?"
(no, I did not and don't intend to)
"Yes." My voice is like sandpaper, grainy and thin and no one seems to notice it (because no one responds and it might be because I've hardly spoken and my face is in my pillow and the TV set is on...)
I go to the bathroom and find my pills and hold my pills and look at my pills and don't take my pills an my pills paint and picture for me.
It's ten o'clock and my pajamas are sticky with sweat as Frank stares back at me with cold, beady eyes and--and--and I don't know what and but...
"What do you want?" is what I say. I don't expect a response but still I ask again, and again. My voice is rising like the tide but what do I know about the tide I live in fucking Virgina and go away go away go away.
Take your pills, Donnie.
I think it's the slow progression of madness that upsets people most. I think it's watching someone perfectly normal normal NORMAL slowly going under, melting into the grasp of their own minds that make the news. You never hear of someone just waking up insane. It starts from now, and ends laterlaterlater or sometimes it never ends at all. Sometimes crazy people keep getting crazier and crazier until their brain can't take it anymore and just shuts down.
Is that me? Was I born crazy?
The pills lay out my body's life in looooong words that stretch all around the bottle. Schizophrenic comes up alot alot alot and I grimace.
Madness is relative, like time, and in my world I'm sane and everyone else is crazy and Frank really is trying to help me even though he isn't he isn't he isn't GOD HELP ME!
My fingers itch for something, something to break or smash or set on fire and I consider going down to the kitchen and taking a knife and cutting patterns into the walls but I don't because it's my bathroom and I don't want to look at it when I take a dump.
Pills, mocking, sneering. One in the same.
Frank goes away when he takes the pills and he won't have to look at him anymore or his ugly smile and darkdarkdark black eyes and he goes away TAKE THE PILLS!
The silence becomes deafening, intensifying with each breath I take and no matter how much noise I make it's still silent so silent and Frank stares at me stop it stop it stop it!
I walk out of the bathroom in a bubble of manic-depressive whatever and at the moment I don't feel like I'm alive, like I exist, like I have a name or species or function or brain. I'm just floating around in a pool of the words insanity and just as they believe they are there I am not. I never have been, nor ever will be, completely there. I am just an idea half thought, and I AM NOT THERE!