a good death

I didn't even realise I had been displaying what I've now learned are all symptoms of a lengthy psychosis... I always assumed that the hallucinations, the paranoia, those obsessive persecutory delusions, were where it starts... It never occured to me that the year-long period where all I felt was depression followed by a total lack of joy or motivation to do anything, even cook or make my bed, or see my friends as regularly - this "anhedonia" - were all just the earliest signs my already broken mind had begun displaying, before I ever heard the enraged and contemptuous voices of people I know in conversation with one another, plotting to harm me and take my new life away; none of which was even real... But I have learned, in the hardest ways, that even complete falsehoods become all too real when your mind genuinely belives that it has experienced something. I could tell myself that I'm just imagining or misinterpreting the things I heard or saw, but I still couldn't stop the feelings of dread and despair that arose from experiencing whatever I thought I was, and sadly I reacted to that imagined fear and heartache all the same. And now I am here. All of that fear and desperation, the loss, became a self-fulfilled prophecy. I went in wanting to face non-existent threats head on, to be able to rid myself of their spectre looming over my life, only to find that it arrived almost entirely because all the while, it was me inviting the real danger right into my home, all of my own deluded volition.

There's no flesh, there's no fingers in my hair, I see a tunnel. We built walls, tall and solid between the treasure and the shovel. I see, and I see a fountain, there's a trail over the mountain. There's no wayside, there's no stopping and the peak is wide and rocky. There's no ceiling in the mansion, there's no waste, no hesitation. There's no crack of dawn, no morning, just an everlasting warming.