Smash this world to pieces

A delusional person can have many of them. All come packaged with this delusion: You are not delusional.

Challenge a delusion, and you will be called a liar. If you cite a mutually agreed upon event that challenges a delusion and insist the person circle the square, the person will do so by removing you from the equation. Which is solution enough for them.

If you appeal to a third party, the person will be able to convince them you are a liar until they are too ill to maintain their facade. The person will avoid regular contact, and without it the third party relies on the person self-reporting. The person must have a lucid moment and in that moment must get help or ask for it.

You hope this occurs. You can’t expect that it will.

If it does not, if the person does not want help, if the person has a will that would terrify Nietzsche…

You hope the person was right, despite everything, and you are the delusional one. You write dozens of beliefs and verify them. Then more. You do this until you accept the exercise has been an effort to stop thinking.

You don’t want to think. Which means you’ve given up. The person hates you. Everyone involved hates you.

And you hate yourself. And you wonder if a third party kept your number. Your stomach drops every time the phone rings. You don’t block anyone. You don’t delete the person’s number, not the only picture of the person, though you can’t look at it.

You aren’t in pain. But you have never been so hurt.

You try to cry. There is nothing where your heart was. You don’t want it. Maybe the person kept it. The void mocks the heartbeat, keeps you focused on your failure. It is a cold ache that consumes ever more of you, and eventually you will be empty. Hollow.

You wish it would hurry the fuck up.