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Morning of a schizophrenic
Morning.
I woke up long time ago, but afraid to open my eyes for I cannot recall
where I am. I guess I should’ve been at home, but then again there is that
unfamiliar soft scent, barely perceptible, I cannot make it out for sure.
This is not a dream; at first I thought that this was a dream, but no –
the scent is too delicate and complex to be a dream, I don’t have ones
like that. If anything smells in my dream, then it does it more distinctly
and pungently, without delicate nuances, and very strongly. My dreams are
my punishment – everything gets to be exaggerated and one-sided, as if
somebody tries to show me something and deliberately overstresses,
over-saturates the picture – supposedly this way is more understandable.
Swarm of thoughts, all hyperbolical, some associations, images, changing
one another faster than you can comprehend them – a refined form of
torture. They won’t leave you in peace, you only get more tired, with your
brain not resting at all – like some kind of machine. There is more rest
from them during the day than during the night – at least you can direct
them into a single channel and think about one thing only; and thanks
goodness that at least work requires concentration. My God, what is this
smell? Finally I gather enough courage to open my eyes and to look around.
Familiar ceiling, familiar walls. Meaning, I am at home. I slowly look
round the room – everything is the same, nothing unusual. Then where does
this smell come from? I don’t get it, what is this lying next to me? Some
bundle under the covers. I slowly unwrap it and see some girl peacefully
sleeping next to me. Where did she come from? Cautiously, not to wake her
up, I put the covers back and carefully lean back on the pillow – thinking
hard trying to remember what happened yesterday and how she could get
here. My brain starts to pulsate from such mental effort and seems to be
ready to jump out of my scull. No, I can’t. I don’t remember anything.
Yesterday was a normal day; nothing extraordinary happened, everything was
as always – morning, work, home, a book before going to sleep. So where
did she come from then? What time is it now? Six. There is still some time
left – I might try to go to sleep hoping that everything would come back
to me by itself. O God, she starts stirring – is she waking up? What
should I do? How to conduct myself? What to say? I wish I could run away,
hide, see nothing. She raises herself slightly on her elbow and leans over
me, her black braid falling down – probably, this is beautiful, but it
brings up in me a completely different, painful association: the braid
seems to me as a wriggling tail of snake, with her head ominously swinging
on it from side to side. Her eyes are trying to look inside of me, but I
can’t find enough strength to look back into them – that image is still in
front of me, and I am afraid to meet that genuine boa gaze, which would
hypnotize me, and I would lose the last of my ability to understand
anything. As if bewitched, I am not able to turn my eyes away from the
tail, which is coming closer
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and closer to my
skin, and I anticipate how I would be pierced by snake coldness as if by
electrical shock, but instead I feel strange warmth and a pleasant
heaviness of hair. Then finally I bring myself to look up into her eyes
and I meet her look searching for something in mine. My God, why she is
looking at me so warmly, why she is expecting the warmth in return, how
possibly I can give her anything, I don’t even remember who she is, what
her name is! Though she is very pretty, I would even say beautiful. Almost
regular, slightly long oval of her face, large dark-brown eyes, long
eyelashes, gracefully curved eyebrows, fairly narrow lips. Thick, almost
black hair is heavy, gleams in the sunlight, and beautifully falls onto
her slender, slightly dark shoulders. Apparently, my look became somewhat
warmer – I saw it by the tiny spark of joy in her eyes. My goodness, poor
creature! How on earth did you get here into this humble dwelling of mine,
what did I do for you that you look at me so warmly? What in me could
catch your fancy? Pity seizes me, and I myself feel the pain of it; I
unbraid her hair and hide into it, now floating in peaceful waves above
me. At this point I positively realize that that strange scent was coming
from her, from her hair and body. I grow even softer from it – the scent
clouds my mind and draws me closer; I wish to absorb it completely, melt
away in it. I still can’t remember her name, ignobly avoid it by calling
her Carina (sweet - ital.), Bella (beautiful – ital.), Cara (dear –
ital.). I am hiding like a coward into her long hair and her delicate
gentle hands. What a folly that was – how could this gentle creature
remind me of a snake? Absolutely sick imagination.
Three hours are flying by absolutely imperceptibly, it is time to get up
and go to work and in general continue my ordinary everyday life. I ran
out of my brightened up dwelling, endowing everybody on my way with
dazzling smiles and greeting all people I knew. At work everything is as
usual – lilting laugh of a charming secretary, tap of fingers on the
keyboard, and important, haughty faces of colleagues, coming to you from
time to time and making you to assume the same smart face while answering
their stupid questions.
The closer the end of the day is, the nastier the chills inside become,
and the more I want to return back into the morning and to sense that
scent, again to hide away from everything into that beautiful hair, to
endlessly run fingers through it and stroke it. The closer I come to my
home, the sooner I want to get there, and the deeper my fear not to find
anybody there becomes, and the slower I walk. I am constantly trying to
recall her name but in vain. The feeling of unreality is not leaving me,
and it seems to me that everything was nothing but my fantasy, my dream.
There is nobody at home – it is vulgarly empty, all what is left is a
semi-real scent, a torturing reminder of the morning, from which it
becomes impossible to breath; this emptiness suffocates stronger than a
noose, it squashes my heart. Finally I am collapsing unconscious into my
crazy dreams – maybe tomorrow there will be another morning…
10-13-95 00:14am
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