Edge of Sanity

I have a self published book entitled "Edge of Sanity." It's a story about two siblings, Jasmin and Herby, who both suffer from mental instabilities yet can't understand how they've reached their current states. The novel is written in epistolary format as if they were writing to each other at different points in their lives. The characters take the reader on a journey ofconfusion and uncertainty, unsure how to ever return to the reality that truly is.

I have reached a moment of clarity. That far off instance in my reality where I understand things. I question if these things have understood me first. But, I wonder…where have you been? I sit here, on my throne, reigning over my own domain, daring you to step into a world that you really don’t know, and never will, asking myself…where have you been? The young boy that left our placenta filled encompassing was not the boy that returned home with me. If there ever was a home that I inhabited. Well, my body surely occupied the cramped dwellings of despair and treachery, but me, my spirit…not Cleo, as some may call her, but I never truly stayed there. I, myself, was out searching for you. Maybe you did go to that home and searched for me there. However, we must have kept missing each other.

You, the body that holds me captive in this white—maybe off white prison cell is not the he that I seek, however. No, the you that watches me tempt the electric razor off the edge of its sanity and join me in but another electric shock therapy, is not the you or rather the he that I want to stand beside me as I overlook the worlds of my true reality. All my life was but a bad dream that I tried to awake from yet you, not the he that I hunt for, but you continued to feed me sleeping pills. My twin would never submit me to such a pass. I soon grew tired of searching. You surely are a master of hide and seek.

My body, my lifeless, senseless physical presence certainly underwent a number of tragic ordeals and though I wanted to help, if I really could, I needed my brother. Some nights I did visit, I would hold you at night, hoping that you’d come to the feel of my warmth. The sun would often set up camp within me, calling your moon to cool me. You never returned the call. I left messages and stressed urgency. But…back to my moment of clarity.

I took those tablets that you attempted to force down my throat. I felt like a wicked show horse, punished for simply trying to break free. Yet, her captors never felt the desire to show her the world that she could have. They only painted imitations of the world that they were prisoners of; I wouldn’t succumb to that life. Maybe the world lived in one’s mind truly is no different than the world lived within the walls of my asylum. My reality is what I make it to be. Stuck in a prison with no bars, guarded by two men in white suits who don’t exist. Maybe there weren’t two captors, but certain days I’d receive a double dose of falsehood. I get so confused in this brain of mine. Sometimes, it gets so dark in here; I can hardly see where I’m going. But, yes, I took a glance in the mirror and saw myself. The me that is self, and I realized that the you that I had been searching for, doesn’t exist in this reality. The truth that I rummage around for is nothing but a fabrication of the tapestry of your imagined world. I must stop searching for fiction; I’ll only find more circles that will lead me to where I began. It can drive a person mad, surely. So, I must depart. I can no longer pretend to be here, when there is nothing here to keep me.

When you see my brother, tell him that I was looking for him, he’ll know where to find me. If he never returns, then at least my search was not in vein. He’s probably where I am going. Before I leave though, I’ll leave you with this. You must refine the lines of your reality. The truth is never what you imagine it to be.

Goodbye dear friend.