A Descent into Madness

Many might wonder what it feels like to descend into madness. In a word - blissful.

There has never been such a pleasant feeling in my life. It was as though I had shed my sorrows, been born anew to experience the joys of the world without the plague of worry that seemed to cling to me like a disease. Mornings became refreshing, and sleep became an afterthought, as I saw the realization of my potential as a certainty. There was no longer any doubt that what I set out to achieve was within reach, so long as I managed to move forward.

This was also a driving force behind the madness - the incessant desire to pursue that forward momentum, to prove to the world that my body no longer required rest. I had transcended the more-menial needs of life, like nourishment and recreation. There was a mission at hand, and my sole purpose was to enact change in the world around me, to mould it in my image, to bring reprieve to the meek, and equity to the downtrodden.

The things that others took for granted had never come easily for me. Socializing, confidence in my abilities, security. I had struggled since childhood to find myself at ease in these areas of life, to no avail. Yet, as I began to slide further and further into madness, these shortcomings were not only overcome, but obliterated. There was nothing that could stop me now, no one that could shake my self-assuredness. People became opportunities to spread my ideologies, conduits through which I could reshape reality. I had finally accepted who I was at my core, and discovered the strengths that I had once discounted as weaknesses.

My brain was constantly awash in serotonin and endorphins, and a pervasive joy had usurped the weariness and despair that had been my companions for longer than I could recall. Vibrant, colorful, brimming with opportunity - my vision of the world had changed, and the memories of nights filled with angst and days replete with uncertainty faded into the distance.

Creativity the likes of which I had never known became a fixture of my life. Writing became effortless, and poetry was the window through which I connected with the world. It was as though the dam of my inhibitions had been breached, and from it flowed an infinite tide of motivation. Life had become easy, and I never wanted to return to a reality in which it wasn’t.

Once it had been wrenched away from me, I longed for the madness that had decimated the past version of myself. In its absence, I had regressed into my former self, and the confidence and resoluteness that had been a constant had dematerialized, as if it had never been in the first place. I felt downtrodden, forcibly suppressed by a society that had deemed me insane and dangerous. More than anything, I resented the lack of gratitude of those around me for my ambitions to fight the good fight, although it is hard to say whether any of my progress was truly material, or just a distant echo of my imagination. In my mind, I had not escaped from the depths of madness - I had been wrenched away from it.

Now, I have but to mourn the past, because although I know the madness was harmful, it had become an awakening to sensations I had never known. My days are spent in fear that the madness may return, and a longing for the possibilities it had falsely promised.

So, when someone asks me what it feels like to descend into madness, I can’t help but languish in the reveries of a past I shall never relive, and a bliss I may never know again.