The Mind Enchanted

by the7Saviors

The Madness

I think now that I must finally admit to myself that I am not well.

Not just in the sense that there are strange and malevolent powers working against me—I still believe that to be very much the case—but I can no longer deny this mental sickness of my own making. My prior outburst and these horrid constraints that bind me are proof enough that I am not as in control of my mind as I previously thought and upon further reflection, I'm forced to entertain the idea that I might never have been to begin with.

The fragmented memories that had emerged during my manic fit are gone, once again locked away somewhere deep within my subconscious. Would that I could be rid of them entirely, but alas, I can only hide from what I now know to be a truly dreadful truth. Where once I was afraid of not knowing, now I'm afraid of that very knowledge, for it's only now that I realize the fault for my incarceration is truly my own.

So distraught have I been in regards to that elusive truth that I've neglected to count the days since that brief fit of insanity. No longer does the isolation bother me, nor do I cringe at the sounds of the truly mad, for I can now count myself among them. Doctor Silver Lining has tried once or twice to speak to me of the incident, but I've nothing to say about it.

I haven't a clue of what her current or future schemes might be, but the mare and her brutish cohorts have yet to drag me to that awful room to sit upon that torturous chair since that day. It's just as well, for I would have sooner bitten off my own tongue than be subjected to another treatment by the 'good doctor'. I'm finding lately that I much prefer the company of that nagging voice in my mind.

Yes, the voice has returned, and cruel as it is, I find a strange sense of solace in the harsh sting of its words. Or perhaps I simply feel that it's a penance of sorts—a burden that I have to bear for my sin, whatever that wretched sin may be. It mocks me and does what it can to drain my sense of self-worth, but through it all, it continues to keep me in the dark, blissfully unaware of what it is that I've wrought.

Yet, even still…

Though the memories are once again buried within the deepest recesses of my subconscious mind, I have not been the same since my emotional collapse—I have not felt the same. Though I may hide from it, though I may run from it, the ghost of that memory haunts me still. I can sense it there just beneath the surface, just close enough to bleed through many disparate, almost paradoxical, sentiments.

I feel I am both the deceiver and the deceived, the victimizer and the victimized, the prosecutor and the guilty. I feel both justified rage and vicious satisfaction. I feel the hurt and pain of something precious lost and the joy of finally obtaining something endlessly sought after. Each and every one of these echoes of divergent emotions I feel at once, and the weight of it all is almost enough to split my psyche in two.

I'm losing myself, breaking down, and through it all, he continues to watch me.

I see him there, clear as day—clearer even. In the wake of his presence, in fact, all else around me seems dull and hazy in comparison. I see him there, always there in that corner. That diminutive creature, his royal purple scales thrown into sharp relief, his bright green eyes ever and always watching me with sadness and pity so profound that it breaks my heart.

I want to look away. I'm desperate to avoid his gaze… but I can't.

I won't.

I know he should be a reminder of what it is that haunts me, but strangely, the more I focus on him, the easier it becomes to forget. I can't begin to fathom why, but when I look into those eyes so full of bottomless sorrow, I somehow feel like myself again, at least a little. At least enough that I no longer feel like I'm unraveling at the seams. His gaze centers me, and I can at least pretend that I'm okay, if only for a little while.

But it doesn't last. It never does.

Eventually, inevitably, I begin to unravel and lose my sense of self again. Sometimes I think to myself and wonder if Silver Lining knows this. Sometimes I wonder if that's the reason she doesn't put me back in that chair. I wonder if maybe she's just as afraid of what will happen when she next flips that switch as I am. I've asked him on more than one occasion, but he never responds.

He only ever sits there in that corner like a silent ghost, the forgotten remnant of a tragic memory, a permanent fixture in the periphery of my white prison. I look at him and in my mind's eye, I see both a close friend whose name I've forgotten and a perfect stranger whose name I never bothered to remember in the first place. Another little duality to add to the list, but both sentiments feel right.

They all feel right, but I know that's wrong and I don't understand why.

Even if I still wanted to know, he wouldn't give me any answers, and seeking assistance from Silver Lining—Celestia forbid—would do me no good where he is concerned. The burden of his existence is mine and mine alone to bear, not by choice but by design, for he is my creation and I am the only one that can see him. This I've concluded and have come to accept after much feverish deliberation, blatant denial, and careful observation.

Nopony else seems to acknowledge his constant and very conspicuous presence—not Silver Lining, nor the nurse, nor any of the orderlies who come and go. I've yet to say a word about him, for what would there be to say? I could certainly point him out, of course, but his appearance is all but self-evident. Though I've questioned her intelligence many times since being brought here, I know that Silver Lining is not a complete fool, nor is she blind.

I would wager that the nurse and orderlies are also relatively able-minded ponies with working eyes, so it would then stand to reason that their lack of acknowledgment means that he simply does not exist to them. Not so hard a leap to make given the circumstances, but it's that rationale that's made me wonder whether or not I really am as insane as I feel. I've struggled with the question lately and all I'm able to say for certain is that I am mentally unwell.

All I can do is sit here in my white prison and ruminate upon my circumstances. Why the emotional dichotomy? Why does that creature haunt my vision at every waking moment? What must Silver Lining be thinking? What does she have in store for me now?

And those broken spectacles... to whom did they belong?

And most bafflingly of all, if the owner of said spectacles was somehow harmed or worse by my hoof, then why is it that I feel as though I am the one who was wronged?

Comments

[Distressing Prose]

10543899
The answer is probably "Not on purpose."

[Spellflame]

10829198
You say that, but...

[Distressing Prose]

10830570
Eh. This resembles early-mid twentieth century asylum stories. The doctors there were usually trying to help, but the methods of the time leave something to be desired by our standards (and ours by the future's). I'm just waiting for the story to end with a lobotomy.

[The Cynical One]

There's a weird fascination with insanity that drives me mad waiting for the next installment in this novel. Seeing the mind stretched thin over a thin veil of a failing system brought to its knees. I love even more how magic mixes with this. There's so many mind-boggling avenues the mystery pulls in strength undescribable! Going crazy over this ever onwards.

[darklight731]

Ah. So her mind has fused with an another, possibly leaving the other body to lose its soul/mind, appearing dead, and causing this whole debacle?