Illusions of Insanity

Illusions of Insanity

Introduction

I have had a fairly strong interest - and talent, according to others - in writing for a while, but I have never attempted and completed an actual story - until now. That story is titled Illusions of Insanity.

The story is about a girl who leads a comfortable and wealthy life. She has a strong support structure and bond with her family and friends. But she also has a dark secret. Every night, she dreams of what it would be like to live a life not worth living. She experiences the hardships that a girl not as fortunate as she goes through every day. As time goes on, the dreams become more vivid; the line between reality and illusion is blurred. The visions of a troubled life increase in intensity until her true secret is revealed.

All comments, questions, and criticisms are welcomed. I am still learning how to write stories so any advice or criticism I could receive from seasoned writers would be of great help.

I hope you enjoy the story.

Note: This story was originally posted about ten days ago but was removed due to strong use of profanity. The version posted below is an edited version of the original.

Illusions of Insanity

Chapter One

I suppose you could say I am one of those people who loves life. Every day I awake to a blessing of life; a blessing of health; a blessing of a strong, loving bond with my family, my friends, and my lovely boyfriend. What can I say? I enjoy and cherish every moment of my life. It is a dream that I wish to never wake from.

"Lizzy! It's 6:30! Rise and shine, sweetheart!" exclaimed my mother. "Yeah, yeah!" I yelled with an obvious annoyance echoing through my tone. I was very much content with remaining wrapped in my soft, warm blanket, but alas, I am but a 16 year old girl who has school. After my obnoxious alarm clock walked out of my bedroom, I grudgingly slipped out from under my bedsheets and into my school uniform before heading downstairs to join in on breakfast with my family.

My family is wealthy, but we are a very down-to-earth bunch. My family consists of my father, my mother, a younger brother, and a younger sister. My father is a wealthy businessman and investor who has made a living as a member of the board of directors of major companies and trading stock on the New York Stock Exchange. My mother quit working after she met my father nearly 20 years ago to become a stay-at-home mother. My brother and sister are annoying, but I love them to death.

"Oh! There you are, sleepy head!" my mother shrieked as I joined every one at the kitchen table. She was such a morning person. It was the same routine every morning: my father, brother, sister, and I would huddle around the kitchen table like zombies while my mother moved tirelessly from one end of the kitchen to the other making breakfast and preparing our lunches.

"Well, I'm late." my father announced as he stood from his chair and folded his newspaper. "Okay sweetie, have a great day!" my mother said as she hurried over and kissed him on the cheek. "Yeah, we have to go too. We're going to miss the bus." I said as I looked at my brother and sister, cueing them to get up and head out to the bus stop. As usual, my mother met us at the door with our lunches, a hug, and a kiss.

Overall, my life was pretty ordinary. But how could I complain? I often walked through the halls of my school, past girls and boys who were alone in this world. Girls and boys who have no hope and have no future. Girls and boys who wore the scars of a troubled life on their wrists. Seeing their pain and pondering their suffering, I can't help but think about what it would be like...

...to live in an abusive home?

...to have drug addict parents?

...to have no siblings?

...to have no friends?

...to have no love?

...to have... nothing?

As I imagine myself in their situation, the weight of my empathy becomes almost unbearable. Feeling trapped in this world; trapped in my own body; trapped in my own mind... Seeing myself as my own worst enemy. My vision of a life not worth living felt all too real. But why wouldn't it? After all, I experienced it every night.

Illusions of Insanity

Chapter Two

“Another day in Hell.” What a thought to wake up to, right? How the hell would you feel if you had to live this life? The few friends I have are dead or in prison. My boyfriend beats me. My mom is a drug-addicted drunk. My dad is dead. I have no other family. My life sucks. What do I have to live for?

It's about noon on a Friday. No school today. No school yesterday. No school Monday. That's because I'm a 16 year old high school drop-out. Typical, right? Finally a crowd I fit in with. I had to drop out after my dad put a bullet in his head. My mom needed someone to help support her drug habit. Welfare only goes so far. Prostitution takes care of the rest.

I climb out of bed, loafing about my room in my black t-shirt and torn pajama pants. I walk out to the living room to discover my mom passed out on the couch. The empty vodka bottles took away any mystery as to why. I head to the kitchen to take a peak in the fridge, swiping the cockroaches off of the door handle before opening the door and having the stench of moldy food penetrate my nose. I guess that's what happens when you have food that needs to be kept cold but no electricity to keep the fridge running.

I take a trip to the bathroom. Dirty clothes and towels resting where I assume a bathroom floor once did. There's no telling, no one has cleaned in years. I have to pretty myself up, at least to meet the trashy standards of my fat, lonely, lower-class, male customers. Work again today. Just like every day. It never ends. I'm a slave in my own body. A slave in my own mind.

This feels like a prison; a nightmare. This doesn't feel real.

Illusions of Insanity

Chapter Three

I wake in a sweat; my heart pounding; breathing heavy. The nightmares are becoming more intense. What is happening to me? Why is this happening to me? Am I losing my mind? Do I have too much empathy for those that are not as fortunate as I? I cannot understand it. I cannot figure it out. Is my mind trying to tell me something? Am I being inspired to make change? What does this all mean?

It's 4 in the morning. Luckily it's Saturday, because I cannot go back to sleep. I take a journey downstairs and open the refrigerator. I mindlessly stand there for a few moments trying to comprehend my thoughts. I grab the carton of milk and poor myself a glass. I gulp it down as if it were a shot of vodka and I sit down at the kitchen table. Staring at the wall, my eyes fall heavy and my vision becomes blurred. The room turns black.

“Lizzy!” my mom yells while violently shaking me. “What?!” I wake up, startled and jittery. “Are you okay?” she asks. “Yes” I respond. “I got up for a glass of milk last night and must have fallen asleep sitting at the table. I'm fine.” I assure her. “Well, okay. Why don't you go get ready? Your father is taking us out for breakfast!” she exclaimed. “Okay.” I say, as I stand up from the chair and head back up to my room for a change of clothes and a shower.

I step out of the shower and change out of my pajamas. I put on my new pair of jeans and tuck the pockets in. “What's this?” I ask myself about the piece of paper I feel inside my pocket. I pull the folded piece of paper out and open it up. It read “86590125”. What could this be? It's in my hand-writing, but I don't remember writing it. What could it mean?

“Lizzy! Are you ready, dear?” my mom asks, yelling up the stairs. “I'm coming” I tell her. Not knowing how to explain it or where it came from, I set the paper down on my dresser and head downstairs to my family. “I don't need to worry about this right now. I am going to enjoy the day with my family and that is that.” I demand silently to myself as we walk out the door.

Illusions of Insanity

Chapter Four

“Mom, I'm home.” I shouted as I opened the door. I slammed the door shut and locked it as my mom came strolling out of the kitchen. A beer and a sandwich occupied her hands. What a pleasant surprise, she made herself something to eat. “How much did you make?” she asked. “Happy to see you too, mom.” I sarcastically respond. “How much, God damn it?” she yelled. “Forty-five Dollars” I tell her. “Damn it!” she yells as she storms out of the room. “What the hell is that going to help with? That's all? Forty-five Dollars?” she yelled from the other room. “You know what, then you can go do it yourself! I'm done!” I yelled back as I opened the front door and left.

Why even bother? Why do I even care? Why do I continue to live? Why do I continue to breathe? Just kill me. Or I'll kill myself. I'll kill myself. I'm going to kill myself. I can't take this anymore. I'm trapped. I'm trapped inside my own body. I'm trapped inside my own head. I'm trapped inside my own soul. I can't escape. I can't run. I can't hide. I can't fix it. I'm broken. I'm a failure.

The thoughts race through my head. This may be the first thing I felt my dad did right. Maybe putting a bullet in my brain was the right way to go.

I walk for an hour. In the dark. Alone. Look there. It's my lovely boyfriend's house. He's got just what I need. I knew where he kept his .45. That would do the trick. I break into his house. He wasn't home. Probably out with his other girlfriends. Maybe I should wait till he gets home and take him out too. Screw it. Why wait? I've done enough suffering. I need to end this.

As I grab the .45 from his nightstand drawer, I put it up to my head. I begin to cry. I scream frantically. I cry harder. I can't breathe now. I feel sharp stinging sensations in my arms. I feel constricted. I feel it tightening. I can't move. I can't think. I can't feel. What is this? I've never felt this before. What are these voices? Who are these voices?

This has to end.

I want to pull the trigger. I have to pull the trigger.

I pull the trigger...

Illusions of Insanity

Chapter Five

I wake again in a sweat. “Why is this happening to me?” I think to myself again. “This isn't me. This isn't who I am. How do I stop this?”

“This has to end! I can't take this anymore!” I tell myself as I stand up from my bed.

“But it can't. This isn't happening. This isn't real. It's all just a dream. It's all just a nightmare. I'm not suicidal. I'm not a 16 year prostitute. My father is alive. My mother is great to me. My friends; my boyfriend... they are my world.” I was arguing with myself now. I was using my thoughts to argue with my thoughts. I didn't understand. I couldn't comprehend it.

“My life is over. I'm ready to end it. This has to end. My life will never get better. I will always be poor, always be miserable. I will always suffer. I have to end it. I would rather die than continue to live this way.” I say to myself.

The thoughts swirled inside my head, growing stronger; become more frequent; becoming more intense. The suicidal ideations were unbearable. An epic battle raged. I knew what I wanted to do. I knew what I had to do...

“But how could I? Why would I? I have a great life. I have a great family. I have great friends. I have a great boyfriend.” I again pleaded with myself.

But do I? Do I really?

Who am I? Where am I?

I pace back and forth across my dark room until I stop at the window. I begin to stare at the world outside. The full moon shining brightly on the lake. The reflection was so beautiful. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to feel it.

As I tried to open my window to escape this room; these thoughts; this life, I noticed for the first time the bars which held me prisoner. “What is this? Where am I?” I asked myself. “This is not my house. Where is my house? This is not my room. This is not my bed.”

The thoughts flooded my mind again as I screamed at the top of my lungs “HELP!”

The door to my room swung open. “Oh, thank God! Mother, you're here!” you shouted in joy.

“Yes, Lizzy. I'm here. Now lets get back in bed.” she said.

“Wait... you're not my mother. Where's my mother? Bring me my mother!” I screamed.

“It's okay. Everything is okay.” the strange woman calmly assured me.

Then suddenly, there it was again...

That feeling...

The sharp sensation in my arms. The constriction. The tightness. What are these straps? Why can't I move? “What are you doing to me?” I frantically asked, screaming and kicking. “HELP!” I yell again.

“Everything is okay.” she said again, calmly.

My eyes began to fall heavy. My vision became blurred. As I lie there in silence, I glanced at the door to my room. I stared intently as I noticed the numbers...

“86590125” it read.

“There they are again.” I said, remember back to the paper I had found inside my jeans pocket. I didn't have time to think about it. The room suddenly went black.

"Lizzy! It's 6:30! Rise and shine, sweetheart!" exclaimed my mother. "Yeah, yeah!" I yelled with an obvious annoyance echoing through my tone. I was very much content with remaining wrapped in my soft, warm blanket, but alas, I am but a 16 year old girl who has school...

And that is okay with me, for I have the blessing of life; the blessing of health; the blessing of a strong, loving bond with a family, friends, and a lovely boyfriend.

This is the dream I truly never wish to wake from.

Hey, you stick to being a smarty pants, and I will be the writer. This is so we both are the best at something, kay?

Don't tread on me this is my turf.

It took me awhile, but I finally summoned the patience to read this. It is with a heavy heart, however, that I must inform you that no one else will read it (probably). It is really, really long. You trying to kill us with words or something?

Originally posted by Modern Americana
It is with a heavy heart, however, that I must inform you that no one else will read it (probably).

I figured as much. That is why it took me ten days to re-post it. I was debating whether or not to even bother. But alas, I decided to post it. I don't know why. I guess I was hoping there were at least a few people out there who do not extend their laziness to the Internet.

reply to post by PETROLCOIN


Blame Twitter and all that. They cannot process anything larger than 140 characters.

Here is my story summed up:

GRL HAZ GUD LIFE ND HAZ BAD LIFE N DREMZ. SHE WAKE UP ND RELIZE SHE N A MENTL HOME ND HER GUD LIFE WAZ IMAGND. BAD LIFE IZ HER REAL LIFE.

137 characters. I did it.

reply to post by PETROLCOIN




That was MUCH easier on my eyes than the blocks upon blocks of text.

Watch, that will be art in a few years.

reply to post by Modern Americana



S&F for the comedic value of the thread alone.


Sadly, he's right, I'm much too lazy to read all that.
Tonight
But I will tomorrow when my eyes are fresh.

Enjoyed this story very much. Thank you for sharing.