People often call those who came before them mad, and while I am no exception in calling my progenitors nothing more than lunatics I still find it rather dishonest with myself to say I'm any better than them. I'm still, in the great scheme of things, stark mad. No sane man lies awake at night pondering the exact ways he can escape his fate. To be frank, I still had no clue why I was planning an escape. I had been locked away in a mental institution, something I couldn't say I agreed with but people will always do as they see fit. I couldn't recall when I had awoken, all I know is I did and that's certainly why I sat across from the doctor.
"Can you tell me more about the... Dreams... You've been having, Johan?" He asked, his tone almost annoying. I had just mentioned dreams in an attempt to get him to leave me alone. Most people backed away if I played up the part of a raving mad man. I suppose doctors were paid the sums they were for a reason, however. I ran through the partial lie I had told prior, something about death and a monster. I had similar dreams prior, yes, but they were never as graphic as the lies I told. I don't recall them being, at least.
I don’t think I pleased the doctor much with my tale. In fact, he seemed to get more distressed writing it all. I hoped he would shut up yet he just pried deeper. He asked quite useless questions, such as my relationship with “God”, whatever that was worth, and how I felt about my parents and what happened after I moved away. It irked me, having people ask such questions. I requested to sleep early that day as soon as there was a pause in the questions. The doctor wasn’t pleased with the request but frankly I stopped caring as soon as he granted me permission.
It didn’t take long for me to leave the office I was sitting in for what now felt like hours. Truthfully I couldn’t remember when I went in. The sun had yet to set, didn’t it? Or perhaps the sun had just set. I could ask the doctor but he already asked too many questions. Besides, he had already turned off his office light. He had left the room already, hadn’t he? I don’t recall his footsteps after mine but it’s not like it mattered, I just wanted to go back to my room.
My room, I couldn’t quite recall where it last was. It was down the east wing hall, wasn’t it? Or was that the office the doctor sat in? He was opposite to my room, wasn’t he? Or was it the opposite wing? Which wing was I currently in? I was in the west wing, wasn’t I? I couldn’t ask a nurse, those bitches only ever sneered at a lost man and told him to find his own way. I knew which hall I needed at the least and yet I could swear this hospital slowly warped and twisted itself so you never could find your way.
Surely a nurse was still awake, right? Perhaps she could help me find my way back. I know truthfully I get lost so often it’s a shame but it’s in their job expectations, is it not? Perhaps I forgot those details too. I forgot what it’s like outside. I think I remember how beautiful the spring flowers were, but now it’s grown to winter, hasn’t it? I think I feel the chill on my bones now. I should request the nurses turn the heat up.
Had I left my bed at all? I thought I was talking to the doctor mere moments ago? When did I return? I remember the doctor looked quite concerned about my condition but he promised it was improving. Had he said it was improving? Was he lying? Surely the doctor wouldn’t lie.
The bed is quite soft. I’m growing quite tired. The doctor promised himself I would be able to sleep well tonight. Perhaps now father will stop scolding me for my exhaustion. Perhaps father will be content with the energy I have. The doctor is no longer staring through my mirror. He never thought I knew, but sadly I never had the energy to say it. Perhaps when I awaken I’ll ask him about it.