The Immortal Beauty: A mutated tree

I try to analyze myself to my own opinion. What I fit and what I don't. I also record a dream of what is immortal-beauty.

I'm diagnosed as a schizophrenic sociopath. I have trouble believing I am a schizophrenic by definition, however, it is quite possible mine just materialized in a bit of an odd way. I don't hear voices, I see hallucinations but not of what is in my head, I see nightmares more or less. My schizophrenia has taken shape, not in the form of voices, but memories. I remember the lives of people I don't know and never should know. This spans hundreds if not thousands of people of whom's memories were "made" in my head. 15 of these people, however, I remember in the order of father to son: chronological family order. I'll go in further detail of my minds own (quite frankly) beautiful and intriguing schizophrenically made world of people and ideas and, all the likes that I love about a story.

When I was a kid, I seemed fine. I played sports up until I was eight, and although I did that, I never really got along with my classmates as far as I can remember: be it due to shyness or not liking them, I remember not. But I had feelings, I think. Around the age of eight is when I started to see the world for what it was, the bad, that is. I wasn't exposed to some tragic event or "wokeup" like that, I just started looking at things I guess. And I didn't like what I saw. This has developed into my own sort of mental protection, I always like to read on people's theories of how the mind works. I believe we create facades for the purpose of protecting ourselves to such an extent we can forget who we are.

Emotionally, I never got to grow up. I'm extremely immature emotionally and so it's only natural I stick to logic and things I'm familiar with. I've had the same best friend since I was 4, for example. I just haven't made anymore friends and he's static much like myself. I have to blame my emotional insecurity on a few factors but the biggest is probably an alcoholic mother of whom is abusive to my step-father. He has stayed devoted to her through love, and love alone, despite her cheating on him, beating on him, etc. In a way I hate him for it, for "loving". I've tried to care for people so many times and it never really worked out. Even when I fell in what I would consider "love" it lasted about five years, and was just ripped out from under me one May morn.

But this isn't a chapter of sap, nor a book to talk about my "feelings". It's to talk about my lack thereof, and the effects schizophrenia has put on me: I still think those things were needed to explain where I am mentally/emotionally. I have trouble telling what emotion I'm feeling, but I love comedy. I love laughing, I love jokes, and falling on the floor laughing from something or literally crying laughing from some stupid s**t my friend does or says. I once looked at my best-friend and said to him-

"You have a really stupid looking face."

I suppose the unexpected nature of it made him laugh and in turn made me laugh and it was a back and forth cycle of laughing at eachother laughing until I stumbled out of the room to stop looking at his big dumb face, haha. I wish I was exaggerating when I say it was ten minutes of pure laughing and pain (This happened more than once).

But of all emotions, comedy seems to be the only one I can conjure. And I've come quite adept at it aswell, if I do so wish to flatter myself. But when I'm not laughing, I don't know what I feel. Of course I've felt sadness, fear, happiness, anger. But these are all instances that I've experienced maybe three to eight times in the past seven years. Very distinct moments in time for me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm "broken" but often I disregard the diagnosis of sociopathy, and more prefer to call "selective". Similar to my Nan's opinion on it of
"For all your abrasion, misfittings with people, and what comes off as being an a*****e, you never make the wrong choice. When it comes to you, or the people you care about."



I woke to the sensation of a gentle spring sun's warmth on my skin, and grass tall enough to act as a pillow on the nape of my neck. This pleasant sensation interrupted by a brisk gust of cold winter scented wind washing over me like falls, rejuvenating me as if it were the fountain of youth. I shot up as did my eyes shoot open, below me was a valley scarred in beams of moving light that peeked through what looked to be storm clouds, of which found difficulty to form. The greenest of grasses, the greyest of rock faces, and the gayest of white flowers scattered about. A small, deceivingly snake-like, innocent stream running through the center of this valley of which I towered over on this mountain side.

"I should sleep forever here."
Was my first thought, but my head was drawn away from an unnaturally beautiful sight of natural nature: to a singular tree. This tree stood alone with me on this mountain top paved in green with inverse potholes of stone. It was an evergreen of the darkest bark with the darkest neddles, but one thing stood apart on this immortal tree. It grew cherry blossoms, I remember distinctly declaring cherry blossoms my favorite tree. Now I'm looking at the most beautiful thing I've ever seen mixed with the only thing I've ever wanted. Of course I approached this tree and ran my fingers along the grooves of its bark, when it spoke to me.
"Won't you stay?"
Without hesitation I answered to the almost angelic voice.
"Yes, how did you grow these blossoms?"
With a question of my own, I sat infront of the directionless tree, grooming her bark.
"I know not, I remember naught. Will you play with me? Will you stay with me?"
Starting her reply with a voice of certain lonesomeness, it then turned to glee, and then to desperation.
"Yes, I'll play with you. And I already told you I'd stay. How old are you?"
I began to examine the branches above me closer than the bark, that of which I still felt.
"Oh, wonderful!"
A voice that was happy, almost drowned out by the exhaustion that sounded a yawn interrupting her
"I'm very glad to hear that. And...", Sadness returned to her voice.
"I don't know... how old I am."
If she were a person her head would surely hang low. Taking a few moments to think I gave her my name, and asked for hers. To this day, I can't remember what name I gave her, or what name she gave me. Surely her name was beautiful, though.

Author's Note

I try to put a dream/hallucination per chapter. As I believe they play a major part in defining me today. I'll likely go into schizophrenia and its, quite frankly, fucking freaky effect on me next time.