The Labyrinth

A haunting portrayal of living with schizophrenia, navigating a blurred reality, and struggling to maintain a grip on sanity.

The Labyrinth

My mind’s a maze. Not the kind you solve. More like a trap.
Lately, it’s a labyrinth with no escape. No map. Just walls that close in.
The voices don’t stop. They don’t whisper, they scream behind my head.
Sometimes I look around and the world is off, like I woke up in a dream no-one else notices.
People talk to me but their voices break and crumble, like trying to grasp at air, it slips through my fingers.
I see shadows darting out of sight. Faces in the crowd, looking at me, but not quite there.
My mind is playing tricks on me, or maybe it’s the world.
Voices are louder now. Telling me I’m not safe. That this place, this world, is a trap.
And sometimes, I believe them.
I’m drowning. The air thick with my fear, suffocating. I try to breathe but it’s like choking on water.
Then everything goes quiet. The screaming stops. The shadows vanish.
Left stunned, like I woke up from a long fall.
Trapped in a cycle of terror and silence.
Memories changing, truth slipping away.
People say I’m crazy. Delusional.
Sometimes I wonder if they’re right.
I’m locked inside myself, hiding.
Not sure what’s real or just my mind tearing itself apart.
I wait, lost in this maze. Searching for a way out.

---

The clock ticks loud, but no one hears.
I’m at the back, pretending to write. The words on the board wobble, stretch.
Someone coughs. Laughs.
They’re talking about me.
A girl whispers to her friend. She looks at me.
She knows.
My pen digs into my hand, sharp enough to bleed. Real.
The teacher talks about perception but I can’t trust my own eyes.
The door creaks. A man steps in. No one sees him but me.
He’s too close, breath cold on my neck.
I turn, empty hallway.
My handwriting’s not mine.
One phrase repeats, pressed too deep on the page:
Don’t blink. Don’t blink. Don’t blink.
The teacher’s mouth moves but his eyes are gone, black holes.
I look away.
Someone passes a note. Blank but for a black smear.
She looks at me, doesn’t blink, smiles too wide.
Outside the window, a shape moves. Wrong. Stretched. Melting edges.
No one looks up.
The bell rings.
I smile. I nod.
I don’t belong.
But I’m still here.

---

The house is too quiet.
Not peaceful. Dead silent, like the air was sucked out.
I close the door gently.
“Home,” I say, voice flat, like a mask.
Mum answers, “How was school?”
“Fine,” I say, even though the tap water vanishes midair.
The Labyrinth

My mind’s a maze. Not the kind you solve. More like a trap.
Lately, it’s a labyrinth with no escape. No map. Just walls that close in.
The voices don’t stop. They don’t whisper, they scream behind my head.
There are times when I look around and the feels different, like I woke up from a dream that no-one else sees.
People talk to me but often their voices rip and tear, like trying to grasp at the air and slipping through my fingers.
I see shadows move, ducking behind walls or chairs. A crowd, faces looking at me, but not really there.
My mind is playing with me, or perhaps the world.
The voices gain strength every day. Telling me I’m not safe. That this place, this world, is a trap.
And sometimes, I believe them.
I’m drowning. The air thick with my fear, suffocating. I try to breathe but it’s like choking on water.
Then everything goes quiet. The screaming stops. The shadows vanish.
Left stunned, like I woke up from a long fall.
Trapped in a cycle of terror and silence.
Memories changing, truth slipping away.
People say I’m crazy. Delusional.
Sometimes I wonder if they’re right.
I’m locked inside myself, hiding.
Not sure what’s real or just my mind tearing itself apart.
I wait, lost in this maze. Searching for a way out.

---

The clock ticks loud, but no one hears.
I’m at the back, pretending to write. The words on the board wobble, stretch.
Someone coughs. Laughs.
They’re talking about me.
A girl whispers to her friend. She looks at me.
She knows.
My pen digs into my hand, sharp enough to bleed. Real.
The teacher talks about perception but I can’t trust my own eyes.
The door creaks. A man steps in. No one sees him but me.
He’s too close, breath cold on my neck.
I turn, empty hallway.
My handwriting’s not mine.
One phrase repeats, pressed too deep on the page:
Don’t blink. Don’t blink. Don’t blink.
The teacher’s mouth moves but his eyes are gone, black holes.
I look away.
Someone passes a note. Blank but for a black smear.
She looks at me, doesn’t blink, smiles too wide.
Outside the window, a shape moves. Wrong. Stretched. Melting edges.
No one looks up.
The bell rings.
I smile. I nod.
I don’t belong.
But I’m still here.

---

The house is too quiet.
Not peaceful. Dead silent, like the air was sucked out.
I close the door gently.
“Home,” I say, voice flat, like a mask.
Mum answers, “How was school?”
“Fine,” I say, even though the tap water vanishes midair.
She doesn’t see.
“You okay?”
“Tired.”
Upstairs, shadows crowd the corners. Faces watching.
I lock my door.
Laptop glows. My reflection blinks before screen lights up.
Messages from people who think I’m fine.
Words bleed into scribbles.
I bite my tongue until it bleeds.
The metallic taste is a cruel comfort.
Outside, footsteps.
Not Mom’s. Heavy.
They stop at my door.
I hold my breath.
The handle is warm.

---

I sit on the bed, shaking hands, trying to breathe.
The silence is heavy. Wet. Suffocating.
Thoughts buzz, scatter, sting behind my eyes.
I whisper, “It’s not real. It’s not real.”
A voice snarls back, “You’re not real.”
Cold breath on my ear though no one’s there.
“No.”
“Liar.”
Pressure builds. I can’t scream.
The walls breathe, the floor flexes.
I close my eyes.
Open them.
Nothing but darkness.
A mirror flickers in the void.
In it: not me.
A face like mine, skin pulled tight, lips stretched in a smile that never ends.
I touch the glass. The reflection’s hand passes through. Icy cold.
I fall back, heart hammering.
The mirror’s gone.
Walls back.
Room back.
But I don’t know if I am awake or not.
I curl myself into a ball, cover my ears, but the voices are inside.
Behind my eyes.
Still waiting.

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated:)

Reviews

[John Sullivan]

YO

A fellow schizo saying hello!

Super, super well done, and real...

No stranger to mirrors and rooms with walls myself... this is a hell of an illness.

If I may, I invite you to read my poem "Minotaur". I think you'll... relate.

https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/JLSullivan/2870515/

[RatsAlongTheWalls]

Hello John,

I am not schizophrenic, but rather before writing my pieces about mental illnesses I put in hours of research about the specific one I am writing about. I use other's writing and articles to gather information and try to see the world through their mind.

I value your comment as it shows I have achieved this in my writing so thank you.

I shall look into your poem to further understand other's and their own worlds.

[John Sullivan]

I think you'll find you've hit familiar territory lol. You paint a fine image for not suffering this illness yourself.

[RatsAlongTheWalls]

Thank you so much! I checked out your work and some of it is truly remarkable. I try to spread awareness of all illnesses and tell people's stories through my writing.

[John Sullivan]

I.... am somewhat shocked to find you are 15. In my opinion you've found a noble calling, and have the gifts to tell the stories you feel need telling. You've done your research well, your use of language is... accurate to the condition. Nicely done, and good luck out there. Keep it up!

[RatsAlongTheWalls]

Thanks man. These comments mean a lot to me. They help me evolve to create better writing so they really help.

[John Sullivan]

You're doing great. Just keep writing!

[DIVYA]

I feel the true hell that can be in a person's mind. This was so sad to read. The sufferer is so alone in that hell. No one understands. This is a hell that's very hard to escape. I hope for healing, peace and comfort for the person.