Diary of the Decending (Recovered in Fairfield Hills Insane Asylum in Connecticut)

This was recovered by my friends and I during a trip to a local insane asylum. While we didn't recover the actual documents, we found a faxed copy of what we believe was the transcription of a diary and evaluation:

==================================

In what sort of world do we live in, when the maddening downfall of a man becomes nothing more than pure amusement? When a ticker across the television screen captures, in the simplest words possible, the breaking of a human spirit? How does one begin to understand the world of another who has been branded an outcast? How can an entire race turn their backs on one of their own, only occasionally turning around to throw a stone here and there?

Questions: silly, repeating questions. Questions I ask myself every day, as if I would be the only one to provide an answer with enough weight and validation. Questions that, due to the given circumstances can only be answered in complete solidarity. I ask myself these questions as if they were providing the nourishment to my very existence. I do find, however, that I tend to give the best answers……

You may have seen it. Perhaps on the nightly news, as one of those empty stories coming from the middle of nowhere that airs when your boring little town runs out of exciting happenings. It was one of those stories that are meant to scare you, as most media intends to do. A story which makes you sigh in relief that you live in a happy, normal town, with a happy, normal family. One can only dream, I suppose. It must be nice though, to have the sheets still draped over your eyes, completely unaware of the world surrounding you. I’m afraid I have since lost such ‘privileges.’

I swear, I am not mad: just awake. I have not been touched by God. What foolish God would want me? I have sinned, after all. Unlike most people, however, I choose not to repent. Rather, I rejoice.

I rejoice

Psychopath, monster, demon, murderer : words that mean so much to so many people, but barely resonate within my own conscience. It’s funny, because most words tend to bounce off these cold, dark walls. You would think that at some point they would eventually find their way into my mind. For better or for worse, these words mean nothing to me. I know what I am, and perhaps more importantly, what I am not. This is all I have. I have these words to justify my actions. That’s all anything ever comes down to is words. It was words that were the catalyst of my actions, words that sent me to my own personal hell, and words that keep my very sanity.

Sanity: such a delicate word.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

        I find it so amusing how all these people become so entangled into business that is not their own. Apparently I have gained a bit of a….notoriety across the country, as one of my friendly escorts informed me.  Let them hate me. Everyone needs to hate something. It’s just how the world works. Let them justify my actions any way they choose to. I know the reasons for what I did.

Do you know what it’s like to have something to fight for? I’m sure you do. Everyone has something to fight for. Once again, it’s a part of human nature. Do you, however, know what it’s like to be compelled to do something? To have your very mind completely focused on completing on goal and one goal only? People may call it mind control. He, that is to say, I, knows what it feels like.

A body is but a vessel to contain the soul. The soul is a very, very fragile thing. The only thing that protects the soul is the mind. Not as weak, but a delicate thing, nonetheless.

The amount of power one has over their mind varies from time to time. Where someone goes when they are not themselves is anyone’s guess, as is who is in control when they are not.

I am in control. Me. They sentenced me to die. If I am of sound mind, I will not let them take such control.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

        Silence is something that scares me, and something I’m not used to. When things are quiet, I fear that someone is devising my downfall somewhere not too far off. I know that it sounds ridiculous, but it is what is constantly running through my mind.  I’ve looked at previous entries in this little book of mine. My handwriting is different now. 

I feel like my thought process is changing as well. I feel different. I feel….pulled by another force. These walls are changing me. This place is changing me. Everything that has happened….everything I have done. Something is compelling me to not pity those who suffered, despite the small voice in the back of my head telling me otherwise. One voice is getting louder, while one is slowly fading away.

Maybe I am just adapting to what this place is making me go through, or maybe I’ve had this within me all along. I can’t be sure. Only time will tell, I guess. Either way, it seems as if there is nothing I can do, but wait, wait for whatever fate awaits me here.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

       I…I’m not sure what happened last night.

I actually managed some sleep. When I awoke, he was dead. He was just lying there in the corner of the room. No blood, no signs that anything happened, but he sure wasn’t breathing.

I’m scared. My head is pounding. My vision is crossed. My dreams…they didn’t feel like dreams. I heard voices. At least, I think they were voices. I couldn’t understand a thing they were saying. I feel like I’m weaving in and out of my own life. When I woke up, I wasn’t on my bed. I was standing in a corner. How does one sleep standing up? Could I always do this? It doesn’t feel like I got much sleep at all. No one has come in to take him away yet. I found out that his neck was snapped. It must be very early, or very late, depending on who looks at it.

There’s no way he could have snapped his own neck….does that mean….no, it couldn’t have been me. I was asleep all of last night. I’m beginning to feel less and less like myself, and it’s frightening.

Maybe it’s a good thing though. I can’t be myself confined in these walls. I am not a person who belongs here.

I fear my mind is unraveling at the seams.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

      These guards, I know they’re watching me. They’re waiting for me to do something stupid. Ha, I’ll show them. I’ll do absolutely nothing. As if I have a choice.  My hands are shaky beyond belief. The cell is constantly spinning. He doesn’t even acknowledge my existence, he just lays there.  I bet he’s afraid of me. Maybe he should be.

When I close my eyes, all I see is chaos. I see things that I can’t even describe. What is my mind trying to tell me? I feel as if my mind and body aren’t even connected anymore. I can’t even call anything going on in my brain thinking. At least, I’m not controlling what I’m thinking. It’s like my brain is on autopilot, and I’m thinking someone else’s thoughts.

They told me that I would die for what I’ve done. What I’ve done? I’ve done nothing! I almost laughed at them. I am an innocent man. They must have me mistaken for someone else. That is the only possible explanation. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember pleading guilty. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember the fires. That must be it. It’s got to be. Maybe I’m just going mad from all this stress. Maybe I’ve always been mad. Who knows, I sure don’t.

I think I might actually be able to manage some sleep. It’s tough, but I feel like my body is going to shut down. You are all I have, little book.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

       I swear I didn’t know what I was doing. I still don’t even know what I’m doing. These walls are closing in on me more every passing second. He just sits there, blankly staring at me, like I’m crazy. He smells awful, like he doesn’t shower. I hope he doesn’t read this. Maybe he won’t, it doesn’t seem like he moves much. I wonder what he did to be stuck in here. Maybe something worse than me; do they put people together based on what they’ve done?e loo They told me I did something bad, something evil. I remember nothing. My entire life has been a messy blur.

They told me I started a fire.

No. They told me I started many fires.

I burned an entire city to ashes. Families died, including my own. How could I have done this? I am no monster. At least, I don’t think I am….I don’t know what to think anymore. Am I even thinking? Or is someone else telling me what to think? That’s probably what they’re doing in here, yeah. Taking over my mind, they’re telling me what to think. I probably didn’t even do anything wrong. All these conspiracies, all this noise floating around in my head, it’s too much to bear for one person. When I close my eyes, I see symbols. Not letters. Maybe they are letters. I can’t be sure. They locked me up in here without so much as a second guess. They told me I plead guilty. Why would I do that? I KNOW I didn’t do this. This is insane. Or maybe I am insane.

They gave me this little book to record my thoughts. They promised they wouldn’t read it. Yeah, right. I bet at the end of all this, they will. When I’m gone, they will read this. I’ll be just another stupid little test subject. I am a human being, not a lab rat. I have a conscience. I haven’t slept in days. He thinks I’m going to do something to him while he sleeps soundly, I bet. I wouldn’t dare. I am going to get out of here one day. I promise.

All I want is my sanity.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

DOCTOR’S DIAGNOSIS

         How the deceased managed to kill himself in his cell is a mystery to me. In my professional opinion, the only plausible method would have been for him to use the only weapons he had at his disposal. These weapons were in fact his bare hands. Autopsy shows that the only wounds on the body were the single hole in the chest cavity, and the adjacent scrapes and cuts around said hole: the would-be location of the heart. The inmate removed his own heart with his bare hands, ending his own life. Further investigation shows that the inmate lived for an abnormally long amount of time after the removal of the heart. This is evident in the large amounts of blood found in the cell, as well as a few other disturbing finds….

Analysis also shows that the order in which the attached journal entries were sent was incorrect. Behind the supposed first entry was an extra note. This note was stuck behind the other via a large amount of caked on blood, as this was the method used for writing the note. The following is what I could make of the note, although the handwriting was clean and neat, the….ink, so to say, was smudged and smeared over time. It is now my speculation that the letters were writing in the reverse order of the state I received them.

————————————————————————————————————————————————-

            This is it. It is time for me to go. Not by hands of another lowly being, but by my own free will. I am no longer in need of such a mortal coil which currently binds me to this world. This does not mean my time is up: no, it simply means that I will no longer inhabit this plane of existence with a species that curdles my stomach, and rots my mind so.

It was a fun experience, and I regret nothing.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————-

         ….when we visited the cell for further evidence, we were shocked with our findings. Blood, massive amounts of blood lined the walls. Not just splats and blots, no….words. Words in thousands of languages, all carefully written and scrutinized upon with a frenzied obsession, some were even identified as languages and words unknown to anyone in the room. Possibly even the world.  In the center of the room, was a heart, presumably the heart of the deceased. With the autopsy showing the only open wound being the hole in the chest, it is assumed the inmate continued to bleed, and also live, long enough after the ‘dissection’ to painstakingly write for what looks like hours upon hours of work.

The last thing noticed were the words written in front of the heart on the floor of the cell. In large, capital English letters was the phrase, ‘I AM IN CONTROL.’

================

We looked for the room that this could have potentially taken place in, but many of the 'cells' have long since degenerated, making it very impossible to distinguish one over the other. During the same trip, we recovered a letter a schizophrenic man wrote to himself.

We don't go back to Fairfield Hills anymore.