Ok this is like the first chapter or part of one of my many story’s i write and i am always too shy to get them out there cause sometimes i think people wont be able to fallow them. so yeah.. tell me what you think….
Joseph Marlin 18th of May 1823 6:43pm
This will be my recordings of my decent into madness.
At times I believe I am going madâ€¦ Crazy, Insane, Over the coo cooâ€™s nest, Not having my whitâ€™s about me. This began with the dreams. Those oddities that cause my own personal melt down. I have never be one of those types that have been ill logical. I am a well dignified scholar. Many degrees in theory of medical and human mind. I have been published in many medical journals and am a well respected individual. How can this be happing to me? Iâ€™ve not wronged no one nor God. I am a strong upholding devout Catholic. Nor have I sinned in my life time. I have not been a man that cat calls to the women like most men. This baffles me to beyond my own madness.
This cannot be part of my reality, I must have an anomalies causing my madness. These things that I am viewing cannot be that from my own mind it must be that of some others. I feel as if in my own thoughts that I place to words on this paper are not of my own but of some others. And at that not even of a human mind.
For now I feel at a sort time of safety for myself. The brightness of the sun has me in not in too much of an estate of panic. But more and more and the brightness falls to the west I can feel myself lapsing in my own safety. I fear of my belongings and those whom I once held dear to me. Oh how I miss my dear Abigail. The thought of her eyes takes me to a post stormy beach with the gray waters and sky where you can barley tell that of which is the sky or the water. Oh how I yearn for her sweet laugh and intellect. She is like no other woman I have met before. I never bored her with my ideas of the brain or what it does. I fear pushing her away may have well cause my madnessâ€¦â€¦.
As I write this and look about the grim settling of the brightness of the sun turning to a softer shades of the oranges and yellow. I fear the point at which I must light the candles for my light. Then I know is when madness takes its toll. I pray that this evening is not as bad as the last. But I fear that it will be far worse than my own house turning against me. I saved myself when the dawn broke threw the east windows. I have ridden myself of that horrible thing causing my panic for most of the evening. I remember as a boy my father bringing it home after his long trip away. He called it his trophy, I considered it just a small fox is a bark of a tree. Well at the time I did. But last night it was the evil in it eyes that caused me to feel fear. How can a simple dead fox cause me to suddenly cry out like a child in a fit and throw my tea cup is beyond what I have ever known to be sane.
Those eyes are to blame. They look simple and cold like two little black beads just staring back at you. They brought me into an state of panic. I could feel myself get cold, the hair standing on the back of my neck. At first I felt happy then said the angryâ€¦â€¦ then the worst part The Fear. But all this just from a simple fox? It cannot be. Madness must be something wrong with my brain. Iâ€™ve looked threw all my medical books and records. But the worst is I did not understand one word of it all. It seemed to me like rubbish on a page. I once could tell you what cause you to do what. But even now that is just rubbish to me even. This just makes me want to run to the comfort of my Abigail. She would remember something I must have said about what causes madness. Oh but explain to her that a fox was in aide of me going mad would make her hate me more. I wanted her so to be my bride. I knew from the moment I saw her stone gray eyes that she will be the one for me. But those thoughts are over now I must focus on whatâ€™s at hand.
There is just one sliver of orange left in the western sky. I dread the candles lain before me. But I must keep light and I must keep documenting. As a boy I remember my mother lighting these candles so that my father could continue with his works of medical journals. I would sit and watch him for hours. His ink would dry up before he way anywhere near done. When that would happen his face would be such a red it would remind me of and apple. Always before I could even tell my father my mother would run me off to my bed for the evening. Sometimes I could hear him yelling to my mother in the late hours of the night for more ink. For that memory I am smart I have made sure I have plenty of ink for many nights that may come. If they comeâ€¦â€¦