Insanity coming from a now sane mind

That's right, I'm alive. And not only have I avoided suicide, I am now on much needed anti-depressants, am a happy student at a prestigious school, and have a boy friend! It gets better!

The Magician looked around the room, and felt an overwhelming sensation of dissatisfaction. She wanted, nay, she needed more than this. She needed more than the countless nights of insomnia, how the Illusionist didn't seem to even register her existance anymore. Every night when he came home it was the same; he would attempt to do the bare minimum homework, spend an hour on hentai haven, the crawl into the closet and run blades down his legs till the carpet had yet another maroon stain, all the while completely ignoring The Magician.

It wasn't a gradual change, either. The last night she had any power at all happened to be the last night The Illusionist ever saw The Mindreader or The Shadow. They had come over, after one of her most masterfully planned magic tricks in which The Illusionist hallucinated that he saw his mother. The Shadow gave him sedatives to bring him down from his resulting episode, but come daybreak, both Mindreader and Shadow were gone.

The Magician had made several theories as to why they left, her favorite being that the Shadow felt threatened by her power, and henceforth left, tacking the Mindreader with him. After their abandonment, the Illusionist simply went through the motions. He no longer resisted the Magicians torture, because he truely did not value his life anymore. He now simply... existed.With this change the Magician realized that she never gave him pain, he was made to be pitiful. He was made to be in anguish, and The Magician in fact had no power over him at all. When she lost that, it felt as if she had lost everything.

Yet when the Magician was just starting to accept that things weren't going to change, they did, in the most astonishing fashion. The illusionist felt the same, he didn't want this either. And so came the most fateful night where the illusionist brought his beloved Magician a rope, and whispered, at a volume hardly audible, the words, "I'm ready to stop fighting it." He didn't fight it. If he had last minuite regrets, he didn't show them. No, he was truely done; no screaming, no whrithing in midair, no clutching the rope to try and pull himself up, he just hung limply, tears slowly collecting at the base of his eyes.

The Magician had not yet lost everything, she knew that now. She also knew that this was not the time of his death, he had died months ago, years ago, it is possible that he never truly lived in the first place. As for why she didn't cry, flinch. even feel an ounce of pain as she say him in midair, she did not cry now because she already had. Some times, she realized, the physical action matters none. I cried, I cried my heart out.

Goodbye friend.

Author's Note

Just because I am now sane, doesn't mean my writing is! I wouldn't be a good writer if it wasn't for my struggles, and the magician is still my best friend. although now it's different, and I tried to capture that in the writing.
THIS IS NOT A SUICIDE
I know, it really seems like the Illusionist killed himself, and he did. But it's not about that. He had died so long ago that there was no hope left for him, he was a parasite on the Magician.


He is a metaphor for depression.

*sigh* Ok, lemme explain.
First of all a few things need to be identified as constants.
The Magician is Memory, and she is myself, at different times (not so much a constant)
The Illusionist is Depression
The Mindreader is my emotion in the conscious brain
The Shadow is my logic in the conscious brain
They are what's called arche-types, characters that make up our collective mind, and different arche-types can have more or less control over different people. This determines skills and personality.


When The Illusionist had control over me, I thought he was me. I thought that he was the victim, when in reality everything I saw from his point of view was an illusion. He is a virus, injecting DNA into host cells, making those cells think that they, too, are the virus.
The Magician is... well, she isn't and never will be "me" the way that the illusionist was, and for more detail on her check out the first chapter on this book.
The last two are self explanatory.



My definition and perception of these entities are constantly evolving, both with my accent out of depression, and my maturing. But I will not alter these chapters, because in them is an entry of my emotions, my thoughts, and who I was during each time period. They are artifacts from the darkest moments of my being. Thank you, my dear readers, for joining me on the epic battle, and helping me by assuring me that someone read my thoughts and saw more than delusional gibberish.

These chapters truly are A small Window To My Insanity