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I can only imagine that a delusion is completely believable. So just because I believe that I am not delusional really settles nothing.
I could be stark raving goofy insane. This whole life – all of this horror that I’m writing about — could all be hallucination. I could be creating a fake personae to hide from my own damage. I could be retreat from my own identity because I hate myself so much. That would be so Fight Club.
But imagine if it’s true. How fucking crazy would I have to be to create an escapist story like this? I mean, why wouldn’t I have imagine a really great dad for myself? Why wouldn’t I imagine a better childhood? Why would I still have all these terrible memories? Why would I make myself suffer so much?
Could it be that because I’m suffering, I can trust that I’m sane?
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