Where Is My Mind?

Something that the doctors ask me a lot in this place is the dreaded question, how did it all start? Where did it all begin? What was the sequence of events which led me to this small ward in a wing of the local psychiatric hospital? I think that they believe I’m just being difficult when I tell them – truthfully, might I add – that I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I do remember that once I was a normal guy from a normal family with a normal job. I’m not sure what drive me so mad. I’m not sure why I lost my mind. Well, it’s my belief that my mind was stolen from me, but I’m not sure that the doctor would accept that as a legitimate excuse.

He’s looking at me now. He asked me a question some time ago and in a classical fashion of mine I’ve fallen totally silent. It’s not like I could give them any answers, anyway. Their guess is most certainly as good as mine.

"Robert?" he asked me, and I dragged my eyes up to meet him, sighing.

"Hmm?" I asked quietly.

"You’re not being very helpful as of late, Robert."

"Bobby. I hate Robert. Call me Bobby."

"Why do you hate your full name, Bobby?"

“I think it sounds much too formal,” I shrugged. At least, that was what I told myself. The truth was, I didn’t like the memories that it entailed. I was constantly called Robert on the night I snapped. I remembered sitting in the corner of my bedroom with my thoughts scrawled all over the walls and all of the furniture stacked against the door, hearing my mom and dad and the police and paramedics calling me through the door, trying to persuade me to come out as I sat there, motionless. Robert, Robert, Robert. God, why wouldn’t they shut up? I yelled at them to shut up. They wouldn’t, though. Just like this doctor isn’t shutting up right now. Does he think I care? Does he think that by speaking to me he can put the shattered pieces of my mind back together?

I look at him closely, wondering what his story was. This, as far as I can understand, is what caused me to start my journey towards insanity, although I’m not entirely sure what finally made me snap. I did this to everyone, obsessively. It was a constant battle with my thoughts. I wondered about his childhood. What was he hiding, if anything at all? Did he grow up happy and content, popular in school? Or was he the loser, or the loner, who threw his childhood rejection into a high-paying and successful career? Was he here to help patient, or was he simply here to assure himself that he was sane?

I imagined that when you spent your day in a sea of insanity you saw yourself as the life raft of coherent thinking. Perhaps he liked that feeling because when he felt that he could elude the truth? Perhaps he was just as crazy as I was, but he was just in denial?

I thought about his family. I wondered if there was one. Did he have a wife and some beautiful children and a dog and a nice house? Or was he married to his job, a lonely bachelor in a lonely apartment? What were his dreams and his fears. Was he like me? Had he realized that no matter what, something he wished for would always elude him? Does he realize we’re all walking backwards? Does he not know that out there there’s people – or something of the sort – working tirelessly thwart all of his deepest desires and most motivated efforts? I doubt he knew what I knew. I don’t think he’s seen what I have seen.

No one realizes. No one knows that they can try and try but they’ll fail. No one knows about Them.

"Bobby?" the doctor broke into my thoughts. God, I hated it when they did that. Not only do the interrupt my train of thought but they’re also not nearly intelligent enough to follow my consciousness anyway.

"I’m thinking," I snapped.

"What are you thinking about?"

The doctor was perfectly used to me snapping at him.

"Just stuff."

"The same stuff when you were in the room with your brother?"

"My brother wasn’t with me, doctor."

The doctor slowly took off his glasses and, sighing, cleaned them on his handkerchief. Meticulously, he replaced them upon the bridge of his nose and observed me over them. I glowered back, my brown eyes glittering with the fire my mother had always been scolding me for.

"Bobby," he said slowly, deliberately. "You need to understand that the person that you killed was your brother."

I shook my head.

"That wasn’t my brother," I replied.

"Then who was it, Bobby?"

"It was someone else. Someone who looked like him. I don’t know where my brother went, but I didn’t kill him. I got rid of one of Them. Not my brother. I saved my brother."

I remembered clearly sitting next to the battered corpse of one of Them. After a week or so it had begun to decay, and the smell hadn’t been pleasant. But I couldn’t leave my post. Now I had, God knows what it was doing. I wouldn’t put it past Them to return from what appeared to be death.

"Who are ... They, Bobby?"

"I’ve told you so many times," I groaned. "They’re the ones who made me like this. They are the ones who destroy everything, They destroy your hopes, dreams, mind, thoughts, They take everything over and if you don’t know about Them, how can you possibly defend yourself from Them?"

"Bobby, we’ve told you. You’re ill, and this is just one of your delusions. Do you remember when you thought the nurse was one of Them? She turned out not to be, yeah?"

"She has you fooled," I spat. "You’re the reason I’m like this, too. I don’t think I’m insane. I’m enlightened. You just all want me to think I’m insane."

Suddenly it hit me, and I gasped.

"You don’t want me to spread the word! You’re one of Them, aren’t you?"

"Bobby –" the doctor began, but I was sure of it now. I had been so damn stupid! How did I not know I was sitting face to face with one of the bastards?

"Don’t you call me that," I yelled, jumping up. "You stay out of my head, all right?"

I was surrounded by them. I had to get out of here, but there was no way there would be anything that could be used as an effective weapon in this place. I knew now that this couldn’t be a mental hospital.

"You bastards have tricked me, haven’t you?" I spat. "You’ve brought me here to brainwash me into thinking I’m insane. Do you do that to everyone who believes you exist? Do you? You’re sick! I’ll not let you get away with this!"

"Bobby, sit down and calm down," the doctor replied evenly, not shocked in the slightest by my outburst. "No one here is trying to brainwash you."

I looked at him, and then at my own hands. I had beaten Them with my bare hands before. I had gotten rid of the one who had taken over my brother.

I braced myself, and got ready to pounce.