I no longer differentiate... Am I living the past or rewriting it? My face is one, but inside me there are two. One smiles when everything collapses, and another cries when I see blood on my hands. They say: "I'm crazy." But they don't know that madness is what kept me alive. It all started from a deal...a deal that made the child disappear, and left Seiko in his place. I learned something I will never forget: do not search for the truth, because if you find it...you will lose yourself. I was trying to recall something mysterious in my sleep, a dream on a cold night, a night of schizophrenia. Everything around me is vague, the sounds are intermittent, and the air is heavy as if it is pressing on my chest. I try to remember the details, to put my fingers on the faces of the situations, but as I get closer, I feel a pain in my head, a sharp wave that pushes me away from everything. I suddenly open my eyes, at two in the morning, and I am shaking between sleep and wakefulness, unable to hold in what I saw, unable to hold back any feeling before it disappears with the cold seconds of the night. It's still two in the morning and I no longer want to sleep. It has become a habit in my life. A dream haunts me. It kills my sleep and deprives my mind of peace of mind. The air is cold, and the smell of smoke still lingers in the room as if it refuses to leave. I got up slowly, opened the window, and looked at the city, which was covered in darkness, nothing but intermittent lights and cars passing aimlessly. I was searching for an echo of my voice, for something to confirm that I was still here. Then I heard it...my voice, but not me. How many times will you repeat this scene? His voice was calm, confident, emerging from the darkness behind me. I froze, didn't move. I know this voice. I slowly raised my head towards the mirror opposite. He was there, sitting as I sat, smiling as I wished I could smile. You're tired, aren't you? He said it as if he already knew the answer. I didn't answer. I was looking at him...at myself. But the difference was that his eyes were sharper, more alive. It was as if the person I had been hiding for a long time had come out to take his place. Don't worry, he said with a lopsided smile, "This time... I'll take care of everything." Only then did I realize that it was no longer a voice in my head, it had become the other me. He wasn't just a shadow or a side of me, he was in control. He smiled slowly, as if reading my thoughts before I started them. There was no harshness in his voice, but every word was sharp as a razor. "You think you know everything about yourself, don't you?" He took a step closer, then stood still, letting my silence fill the room. He didn't need to scream, his calmness alone was enough to make my heart race. "Now I will show you what you never dared to see. Not by force... but by reason." His eyes shone with complete understanding of my every weakness, as if every passing thought in my head was written on the wall in front of him. I felt a cold creeping into my bones, not from the air, but from this suspicious knowledge, from this intelligence that silently threatened me. I hesitated in a faint voice: Is this really me? It was like a curse, tormenting my body and exhausting my soul, leaving me stuck between fear and curiosity, between the desire to escape and surrender to what I see in front of me.
In the morning…
after a night that felt like a crime scene between me and myself, I woke up gasping for breath, as if my chest were filled with ash. Everything around me was silent, but inside I was screaming. I didn't know who had won that night, me or him? Or were we slowly killing each other until no one was left? That night wasn't just a dream… it was a declaration of war. I realized afterward that I hadn't healed, that the infection was still multiplying inside me. I'm infected with myself, sick with the contagion of schizophrenia… I'm living a struggle that no one can understand, because my only enemy resides in my face. Sometimes I feel that pain is beautiful, as if it's the only thing that keeps me conscious of my existence. Every wound reminds me that I'm still here… but for how long? Perhaps it's time to face myself again, and silence what's inside me… before it silences me.