Road to My Tired Mind

People used to see me as this sort of prodigious child. I was an excellent student and teachers adored me. But I never considered myself to be smart-or for that matter prodigious. I was trapped in this world were hypocrisy and snobbery reigned. I was never good. I was a disturbed, sadistic child who thought of himself as being a writer, or at least, a future notable writer who would make a change in history. But it turned out I wasn’t a writer either. I was not a poet or a philosopher. I didn’t write to publish books or because it was my passion. I wrote because it was necessary. I wrote because it was the only way to survive the biggest war I would ever fight against my greatest enemy: myself. I used words as my weapons. They were the only ones I knew. But when it was time to fight I couldn’t even fire a gun.

I also had other enemies. One of the most notable was the academy. I abhorred it. They had given me nothing and taken away everything. They wanted to shape me so I would fulfill their desires and necessities. They wanted to impose me an ideology I didn’t want to accept. They threw me into a world that was unknown to me and left me alone. They turned their back on me and on the future. That’s when I realized the hypocrisy of it all.

So I declared war.

I knew I was throwing away my future, but I had to do it. I felt it was my mission and my legacy to future generations and the world. Maybe it was just my vengeance. Either way I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the destruction of its foundations and the fall of its leaders.

The prodigious child turned out to be not so prodigious. He had turned out to be a menace. But a menace to what? Was I responsible for the disruption of their fantasies? It was a fantasy where they governed everything and everyone. Or was I a menace to their ideals? It was not my actions that had brought them down. Words had done the job, my words. I used them for destruction.

And then there was society. How can I even start describing society? It was filthy and hypocrite. I was their puppet. I was whoever they needed me to be. So I decided to get away from it. I rejected my social status and their ideal of a perfect society. I chose to walk alone.

For years I had worn a mask. I wanted to keep everyone from seeing the monster I had become. But, had the world done this to me? Had it been the world that corrupted me or had I been born like this? Had it been me who corrupted the world? It was time to take off that mask so everyone could see the monster I had always been. But in a world flooded with monsters like myself, who would notice? Ah! I was so naïve and ridiculous by thinking this. Of course they would notice, especially the conversion of a prodigious child into a beast.

How evil was I to profane the use of words? Therefore, I thought I could never be or feel as a writer. I had used words for destruction.

When I looked at myself in the mirror I saw nothing. I just saw a ghost that couldn’t feel anything. My eyes had grown savage and hostile. No! This couldn’t be me! No! I damn the day I became this monster!

Then I understood everything. I was not a prodigy or a writer. I was not a monster. I was only human.