Within These Walls


They say, seeing is believing, and as long as you have seen it…it's real. And I have numerous ways to prove that phrase entirely false. It is believable that all you perceive is real, but there are ways to…contaminate this perception.


Drugs are stereotypical gateways to this contamination, but that is not always the case. It is true, no less, that drugs do in fact confuse illusion with reality. It is also true that once this confusion lies within your mind, it will be hard to distinguish illusion with reality—causing some drugs to be this gateway. Hallucinogens, they are called, and the most interesting things I have ever contemplated over and encounter.


Sometimes…it is simply a large imagination, an exquisite imagination, which can confuse illusion with reality alone. That is all it took me… Having such an imagination can lead to thinking, or imagining, bizarre idea's and thoughts that may seem unreal to an unimaginative thinker, but to the imaginative one…it is real. So if in fact seeing equals believing, then if one thing that is perceived to be true in one mind…isn't true in another, how do you know which is the sane one? If something so out of the ordinary is seen in one's eye, but unseen by society, does that truly make the one insane? Or did society just miss their opportunity to witness something uncanny? Why assume the imaginative one is the inferior one, just because society doesn't agree? And why should we leave the judgment up to society? A consensus doesn't necessarily make something right, or true.


So I sit here, I sigh, and wonder…will I sleep tonight? Will time play with my mind tonight? What is time anyway? Ask yourself this, as I have asked myself that same question, recently, and have finally come to some sort of a conclusion; time, is that ticking sound, that constant ticking sound, I hear when I can't sleep. Wide-awake with nothing better to do than analyze my own connotations of the word time. But you can't take a connotation without considering the denotation; therefore, time is truly just a measurement or a consideration of the changes in motion and in surrounding and even in thought. So I watch the device, the measurer of time, and I watch it change. Just to find beauty in the simplest of things… To watch the measurer of the change in motion, change itself…that…is beauty; it's wonderment and amazement, it's bewildering how such things are possible!


And so I sit here, and again wonder…if I will ever be relieved of this curse of having the inability to differentiate reality with illusion. I speak to my typist, and have him type for me, for my arms are unwillingly tied behind my back. I am no longer permitted to write for myself, they took away the one thing I loved…fearing for self-infliction. However, I do have a purpose for this short story… The purpose is not to prove the phrase "seeing is believing" false, yet that does have much to do with everything, for I am an epitome of a troubled teenager. With such a contaminated mind to be confusingly living with illusion and having an un-deciphered reality, how do I know you, whom I am supposedly writing to, is in fact real? How do I know you will truly read this with consideration to the work behind it, and the mind behind it? Well regardless of what you think, I will continue to write my thoughts, out of leisure.


Like I have stated above, I am cursed with the inability to differentiate reality with illusion, yes a reiterated subject, but an important one, for I am also cursed with the inability to…be happy… Something I have so greatly longed for… I have not found the splendor in life. That itself is something so significant to a person's life, and I have not found it. And so I sit here, behind these walls. I sit here at the apex of my confusion, staring at these pale, white walls. The padded walls of my future, isolating me from the corrupt world outside, supposedly a sanitarium but I see no recovery here. Although, there are times I would much rather be