The transformation was painful, yet that word alone do not describe the terrible stages I went through, neither can it paint the picture of those abominable hours and minutes of pain, excruciating my whole being, echoing in each and every corner of my skin; and even the marrow in my very bones cried out in anguish, torment and absolute inhumanity of the condition I was in.
How it all began, I now remember not, yet in my soul there is a deep void filled with shards and rags of former memories of mine, most of which I cannot even trace to their original source. Is it the illness, its aftermath, or the side effect of the medications I’ve been prescribed, or is it a game played inquisitively by my mind, played with such cunning grace and deceitfulness, that no human being professing itself a doctor, will ever be able to discern it from the actual symptom of an unknown yet dreaded ailment?..
Get thee gone, memory, flow in another direction and let me abide by my own laws, my own ideas. Get thee gone; get back into the recess, from whence you came to haunt me. Torment me no longer and leave my universe which is already broken and is crumbling into pieces before my very eyes this instant as I am writing these words. Who would have thought – would my exquisite mother, a woman of rarest beauty and wit, or my father- a distinguished scholar and artist, a man of great mind and spirit- have thought that their only son would ever fall in his own eyes, sink so low? Would they marvel at this epic damnation, or would they curse their prodigal son who had attempted to break through the transparent walls of bookish knowledge? Would any of them come to my aid now, when I no longer bear any resemblance to the boy they’ve risen to be a musical, philosophical and artistic genius, the golden boy of their midday slumber, the child of beauty itself, the child of late summer winds and swiftly falling rains? Would the images of old come to their minds to torture them? That I do not know; they are both long dead. It has been twenty years since they abandoned me, and fifteen since the day I first traversed to the other, darker side of existence. No doubt you have heard many a tale similar to mine, yet I cannot grant that. Surely, you will find some familiar parallels here, to the things you’ve read or heard, or seen before, but that is the way of the world, one of its multiform, subtle ways which are unknown to human race.
My story is that of a person who…but let me share it first, so you can easily deduce my personal history yourself. Pity me not in the end, as I knew long before I had plunged into that abyss, that I would perish and be gone, and there is no regret in my soul, but only a softly stinging bitterness and shame that is no louder or bolder than a whisper amidst the nightfall. The reasons I will not mention here, but in due time you will see them, all revealed and opened before your eyes, as I see them now. Let me not tarry no longer; it is time to begin what I have been longing to tell for years. For ages. Let me not keep you, for in my agitation I keep no track of time, and it can finish me off when it pleases with no warning or sign. Let me not keep you therein; the door into my madness is thrust open, as is the gate of my life – blessed be he who dares enter, for Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.