Neurosis by Titoxz

Neurosis by Titoxz

He had never found solace in this world, for he knew with a gnawing certainty deep within that he was not fashioned for it. The universe, he believed, was engaged in a relentless, cruel jest at his expense. To him, life offered two paths: one right, one wrong. Whether he believed in a god was a matter cloaked in ambiguity, perhaps even to himself. His existence was a relentless march down the wrong path, every fiber of his being straining against the force that compelled him to live a life antithetical to his essence.

He often mused, “He who knows nothing of fear knows nothing of this world.” And he, without a doubt, knew fear intimately. Not because he was a coward—quite the contrary. There were moments when he seemed the bravest of men. Yet fear, in its most primal form, is the fear of death, and he was well-acquainted with it. Panic would seize him often, and he courted death innumerable times. This intimate dance with death rendered him perhaps the most fearful being in the universe, yet he knew death like an old companion. He yearned for it, sought it as one seeks liberation.

His detachment from the mundane grew so profound that he feared the loss of his sanity, feared the descent into psychosis. In time, he embraced psychosis willingly, a rebellion against the hollow veneer of human rationality he so despised. To be truly free, to be authentic in a world steeped in hypocrisy, he realized he had to surrender to madness. In his presence, one felt the unsettling possibility that it was not he who was mad, but we. He wept like a child and fought with the valor of a hero. Some saw him as a tragic figure, a squandered potential. But not I. I believed in him.

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