The Mind

A madman wanders at dusk.

          Do you know why man fears the unknown, in all its chaotic and uncontrollable fury? Nor do I. But that is what I seek to find in telling my story, for if I do not I shall surely lose my mind.

          I have always found profound change unendurable, though of course I had no idea of what it could truly be until that night. A change in schedule? An unforeseen inturruption? These things frustrated me deeply, as simple as they seem. So I was disturbed, to put it mildly, when my job called for me to move to a secluded country town. Oh, I had no love of life in the city, but I was used to my surroundings there, and the atmosphere of my cramped mid-town apartment. Such emotion has always been extremely vital to my perceptions. Each city, each house, even each different room you step into evokes a mixture of emotions, whether you are conscious of them or not. This is something I was constantly cognizant of. Not that I was emotionally weak. I was known among my peers as one who held up well in a crisis, often helping others. But emotional state was something my awareness was keenly attuned to.

          The move to the country went with few upsets, all of which I handled well. I admit, under all my reasoning and reservations, I was anxious to get settled into my new life as soon as possible. The ideal situation was far out of reach, so I put my own wishes out of my mind. I have been told that, overused, this habit could damage one's emotional health, but I was quite used to it.

          And so my life went on fairly normally, though the contrast between my new life and my old became more pronounced with time. After the initial rush and struggle to get back to an ordinary way of life, I began to see things that I wished to change - impossible, crazy things. The decorating of my new home - a spacious house - it had to be as close as possible to that of my old apartment. A few of my belongings were left behind in the move, and that was unbearable for a long while. As I met people, I realized they did not view me as my workmates in the city had. These new ones saw a different side of my personality, the harried, moody, lonely side. While I had always been a quiet person, I had often amused my friends with my gentle sarcasm. Now I felt that my company was nothing more than a burden.

          Would my perpetual cheerfulness and humor ever return? What began as a gnawing restlessness grew in six months to a pounding, screaming need for...something! I knew not why I felt this way, knew not if I would ever be the same. A madness was painfully gripping my mind. Fight it as I would, it only grew, eating away at my peace and my energy. Yes, the world had become a dark, frightening place, with nothing as it seemed. What had been most important to me could now not even hold my attention. I began to hate my feelings, as I suppressed them until I could hold them no longer. And all because of this cursed change. What I'd once recognized was altered. Being totally alone - the ultimate enemy of the human mind.

          When all this came to a head, I was at my breaking point. I'd begun taking walks in the evening, down the road and through town. Little as it helped my restlessness, it allowed me a few hours sleep at night. That evening, I was trying to concentrate on the gorgeous lavender sunset. My whirling mind gave me no peace, and my eyes began to deceive me in the fading light. Shadows grew. Worse than the starlit darkness of night, twilight seems to twist everything it touches. The haze unnerved me. I could barely see my path. A great face peered at me - no, it was shadows. A hand! No, a tree branch. Where was I? Had I lost my way? Had the path branched? But there was no path, only a grove of trees that I didn't recognize, that I could have sworn were not there a moment before. No! I was imagining things! My feet would find the way home of their own accord. So I walked, proud, oblivious to my changing surroundings. The scenes around me seemed to grow mad, never the same thing was before me. But I walked on. Surely the twilight must be fading to night soon?

          A few saplings were scattered on either side of me. They hugged the path that rose beneath my quick steps. Thick, dark they closed in, leaving a narrow strip of grey above. Soon that, too, was gone. The rows were like walls. Startled, I gazed around. Yes, they were walls. Somehow I must have come upon an old abandoned house among the trees. But no, as my eyes struggled to adjust to the impossible shade, shapes emerged from the fleeting shadows. A chair, a piano. The house was furnished, and richly. I could barely see the pictures on the walls. I could have sworn one moved. I stepped closer, and gasped. A mirror. Round and perfect, it hung at my eye level, my face a dark phantom in its depths. My hindered sight began to pick out features.... No! Barely holding back a strangled cry, I covered my face in shocked fear, crumpling on the ground. It was not my face in the mirror, it was hideous - terrifying! But my fingertips did not lie as they moved feverishly over my face. My eyes were impossibly huge - a doll's eyes. 'From straining in the dark?' my delerious mind wondered. My face was round as the moon, my ears pointed like horns. I was too terrified to scream.

          My senses shifted, my awareness sharpened as if I had just awakened from a dream. I sat huddled in the grey horror as it drifted around me, and my eyes seemed to adjust a bit. This was no house, it was a cave. Boulders drifted back and forth before me like swans on a lake. My mind could not comprehend these scenes. There was no disbelief, no arresting of thought, my mind groped for meaning.My senses were assailed by movement, strange wafts of scents, incongruous sounds. The rounded cave entrance was shifting as the roof of stone became sky. The entrance took on solidity. It was a huge clock - ticking, ticking. I could not stand it. With a cry, I ran, my knees like jelly, my feet unable to stop. Faces glared around me, huge eyes and noses, teeth. The  darkest shadow of all rose in my path. The silhouette against the nothingness was a shifting horror. Tiny, then giant. I tried to look away, hide my eyes, deny the shadow its victory, but I knew the shape.

          A ghastly pale head held fangs all red and decaying. Robes of night - of black - draped the massive form. The form of - the Vampyre! In the cruel slowness of the dying of the sun, he reached clawed fingers for me, eyes wide, fangs bared.

          A scream of pure terror burst from my throat. My eyes filled, with what I know not. My voice gone, I tried to get away. I scrambled through the trees though my legs would not hold me. Between the whipping branches I could barely see a light. A house. I knew no more.

          From that moment my memory fails me. My sister has come, and she tells me time and again that I got lost, fell into a tree and was found the next morning with serious head wounds. I regained consciousness five days later, and found myself in the care of the farmer whose house I'd  been headed for. I've told no one my story but this page. No one must know. They shall all experience madness in their own time.

          I am going to go back to my childhood home, where my sister will stay with me a while. Perhaps there I will find the fortitude I need to fearlessly face the normal demands of life again. If not, I intend to live there the rest of my life.

          Every evening I force myself to go outside my house. I stand on the porch, staring the unknown and all fear in the face. Soon I may be able to force myself to walk the old path again.

          I believe I have made a discovery. I understand what I could never before put into words. There will always be a fear in the depths of a man's mind: "I could wake up in a world utterly unrecognizable, no longer in control of the simplest thing." The feeling of being so helplessly suspended is the definition of true horror, but it is something we must learn to face. It need not be a monster that drains us of all ability to cope.

          Understanding does not always bring peace. I probably shall not sleep well for many months yet. But I will not go mad. I can only hope that someday, somehow, my moment of insight helps those in the world that are as desperate as I have been.

                   

 

 

Author's Note

I wrote this at age 17, so it may be a bit repetitive and melodramatic. I still enjoy reading it, though!