How is it that a life, so full of hope in the beginning can become a prison of memory. How to quite the mind without quieting the spirit. For as long as I can remember now, I have harbored thoughts of suicide. I look off the fan tail of the ship and imagine peacefulness, but I shake it off. Again and again I shake it off. I wake up in the morning and I mentally stab myself in the heart or put a bullet in my head. It has become a ritual for me. I start the day with my own death.

My day is filled with obsessive thoughts. Past wrongs committed by me or to me, I go over them and over them. I want to start fresh. I used to think that it would be fantastic to be able to remember ones past lives. But now I understand a little more the great circle of life. Man is imperfect, this is true, but he is imperfect through his memory. We need to have our memories removed or else we would be born insane instead of just becoming insane. Man is insane.

I am reminded of the story of the man that came home to his village after a long absence and found that everyone had been poisoned by the well water and had become insane. In the end he drank the water and joined them. This I say; we were born with all the facilities to live happy, productive and satisfying lives. But though steady immersion within the insane populous we give up our gifts in order to become accepted. Once one has drunk from the well of insanity one can not go back, only death can cleanse ones mind of the poison. But alas, what do we have to look forward to but another attempt to run the gauntlet of the insane. I remember when I consciously accepted to join the ranks of the insane. I thought I could better understand them if I could have some of their experiences. I thought that I could rise above it for I would keep the memory of my sanity. It has not happened that way. I did not know. I can not go back. I am insane.

Some would say I just grew up.