To tell a tale, when I was young. I was the victim of a psychopath. Do you know that moustachioed German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche? He has a fanbase, some of whom like to position themselves as authority figures on things, even going so far as to look like Jesus so that people who come from a Christian environment will be attracted to them, congregate around them like lost disciples, and get their ideas about what is acceptable from these fascinating people with their seemingly interesting ideas (like that Christianity sucks and one should seek power over and destroy the weak, unintelligent, credulous masses who are deserving of being preyed upon and enslaved by people who aren't restrained by those pesky "ethics" or "morals" which are supposedly so counter to nature and only serve to enslave people to society, according to their view).

At any rate, one can easily deduce what I meant by my summary of them: psychopathic misanthropes who dress in a lot of black and make deafeningly loud music with really interesting guitar riffs that beckon you to want to annihilate the human race for their appalling behavior, or something along those lines.

You may know the kind of philosophy espoused by Nietzsche, perhaps--that there is an abyss between man and superman, and that a man crosses a tightrope across nihilism, and if he falls into the waters of it, that is just too bad; he's not a really strong man like those people who play the really cool guitar riffs to blast-beat drums, he's just a victim to be discarded; to Hell with him.

Having been manipulated by these interesting folks, and having gone on a steady diet of cannabis and amphetamines, and having taken an interest in all things negative, grandiose, and pertaining to darkness and evil, you discover that these people have sort of taken you for a ride. You realize that they don't really care about you, that you are their victim. Having realized this, you sort of see what they've done to your mind and worldview, how you've lost your sense of innocence forever, learned things that can't be unlearned, and the enormity of the evil you have been involved in just shatters your brain. Then, you feel those emotions that you were taught to ignore as weak, human, stupid, and base, then realize that you are not like them--you are not a wolf; you have been taken for a ride because none of what they said was truly believed by them.

In this realization, you find your true self--the inner daemon if you will--and a door opens: welcome to modern society! You have a part of yourself that wants to destroy, and you have learned to integrate it instead of letting it destroy you and everything around you. You saw what you had escaped from: the world of Judeo-Christian religion, which worships death and fears the Devil, and your life was saved from having been swallowed by it. However, there is now no innocence, no way that you can ever trust another person again, no way that you can ignore the emptiness of reality: God is Dead, your deceivers have shown their true colors, and only you can give life any meaning, you must give life meaning in order to survive, but any meaning you give will always be a lie which you place over the emptiness that you have found at the heart of everything.

So, you go through life trying out various ideas, but then they catch you in a trick, which I shall not describe here, but which is very cunning, as you made the mistake of returning in a weak moment to the habits you learned from the forces of darkness. You let fear back in, and fear overwhelms you. The meaning which was up to you to give is now given by an ever-growing conspiracy which tears away your sanity. Now everything has sinister meaning, and you try to fight it off as it is coming for you. Like a Frankenstein, the creation is rising up against its creator: you.

That is what psychosis is: the forces of darkness defining you, defining your experience of reality, and usurping your agency to give things the meaning you choose.

After many years, psychiatric treatment, wandering through the halls of hospitals, reading terrible meaning into omens, signs, symbols, road signs; moving through religions in an attempt to stave off the forces of Death; and also being in a relationship with a predatory woman, you are quite scarred, but you regain your composure. The forces of Death exist, but you begin to write poetry that slowly abandons once more the Christian religion and faces some of the negative forces again. You learn to use the daemon in your mind to create. Fearfully, yes, but you construct a mythos: your own world, your own fears, your own purpose for existing. You speak through Christian symbols at first, as the Devil, as the serpent, as a fallen angel, and you decide: Hell is going to burn no more. This is my Hell, and even if I must suffer, I will live as a Deva, not an Angel. And since the meaning of the word Deva is different across religions, you define your own religion for yourself, not anyone else. Your own experience of life takes precedence.

The mystico-psychotic experiences you have accumulated are articulated in poetry--each one serving a purpose--from the dreams of burning fire in your youth, to the walls you thought would swallow you, to the dreams of floors that chew at victims, to the darkened bars of Hell full of drink, to the poisonous (and ironically deadly) tree of life.

You plot two paths--not good or evil in your mind, but one in which humanity has a future, and the other in which it doesn't. Then, you tell yourself, that if any person forces you to choose between two opposites, to push them into the abyss.

So, am I a schizophrenic? A poet? A narcissist? A mystic? A psychopath? Perpetually conflicted? If you read closely and understand, you will see how little it truly matters, and why I might find delight in toying with such contradictory labels that have been foisted upon me by this world. Enjoy your life, it is a precious thing.