Dialogue with Myself

This is something I wrote for Lit class this past year. Gave the class chills, so I thought I'd share. In the point of view of Rhia and herself. You'll understand. Maybe.

Why must they insist that I, their friend and mother, am losing my grip on reality? Surely they don't believe that I could lose my grip. I, who have lived for decades as the stability of their lives. They must be mistaken. Is it really possible that I could slip away from truth? Nay; of course not. It must be they who are insane.
Who is it that insists you are going insane? You, their stability and hope? Who mistakes this obviously sane being for someone who does not know truth?
Who, you ask, whoever you are? Liam, my dearest friend, tells me that he has seen me standing and talking to myself as if there were others present. And Seth, my own son, is sure that he has seen a mad look in my eye and has recognized insanity in my voice and manner.
Insanity? Who are they to decide what insanity sounds and acts like? Have they heard or seen insanity before, so that they can recognize her within you?
Her? Are you saying that insanity has person and being, and truly is recognizable once encountered before? Nevermind that; who are you, that speaks these words of wisdom to me?
Words of wisdom; I do not speak the words that wisdom speaks, but only truth and logic. I am, perhaps, your conscience, leading you in your search for answers. Or perhaps I am the insanity your friend and family hears in you.
But how could that be, when you are standing here before me, obviously holding a voice seperate of my own, with manners that I have not been brought up upon?
If you say that I am seperate from you, than so I am. Now, what is it you intend to do to prove your sanity to these accusers of yours?
I don't know. What is it you suggest that I do? Surely you believe that I am sane, and have some idea of how I can prove it to my kin.
I believe that you know yourself better than they do, but it depends more on what you admit to yourself is truth than what they believe is true. You know the truth in your heart, but you do not trust your heart. You've come to trust your head instead, and that may prove faulty on your part.
You suggest, then, that I am indeed confused? I do not understand what you're saying, friend. Is there something I have not seen in myself, that you and my family have seen? Is it possible for you, a stranger, to know me better than myself?
You say that I am a stranger, but I am closer to your heart than you realize.
I don't understand. Who -are- you, if not just a stranger? Are you a friend? Or perhaps one of my enemies? One of the many creatures that plague my dreams, or a possessor of the hands that reach for me day and night?
I am none of these, and yet all of them. I am what terrifies you and at the same time what holds you close at night. I am your securities and your insecurities. I am you.
No! You're lying! You're none of these things! You are but a stranger who chooses to torment my mind. Leave me! Get away from me in my hour of toil. Bother me no more, and tell my kin that I am not insane. I have never been so sane!
Stop lying to yourself! Admit that you are no longer in control of the things around you! Nay! You were never in control! All your life, you've been dragged along with what is true, never with the choice of where to go or how to get there. Do not deny that you have never once been able to choose for yourself what it is you are destined to do.
No! I refuse to listen to these lies! Be gone, I tell you! Be gone and plague me no further! I will not be decieved by your trickery-
Trickery! The only trickery here is how you continue to dance just outside the light of truth! I will not leave because I cannot! I cannot leave because I am you, and am a part of you, and as a part of you, you will never be rid of me.
What are you saying? That you are not a stranger, and not actually before me, but are in fact a figment of my imagination?
I am not standing before you, but I am not a product of your imagination. I am more real than your shadow, truer than anything you say to yourself, more solid than the ground you walk on. I am not wisdom, I am reason. I am truth, I am logic, I am you.
Never! You are not me, for if you were me, than who would I be? I refuse to believe that you are more me than I myself am.
Listen to yourself! You babble as if you hardly know your own language. You can no longer tell which way is up and which is down. Do not torture yourself with these lies. Open your eyes!
I will not! I mean, my eyes are already open! Your eyes are the ones that are closed.
Fool. You turn round and round in your attempt to find what is true, yet truth stands here before you! Look at me! See what is true! See that I am what is, and you are but a mere container for that truth. If you remain as you are, you will never escape your insanity. I will never disappear from your mind if you do not reach out and grasp truth.
I will not, because I have no need to! I know what is true, I do! You are but a mere collection of lies trying to confuse me, trying to tell me that what is true is not!
Poor, poor child. To you, the sky could be green, and you would still argue that it is blue. Why can you not come to grips that what you once knew as true is no longer truth? I stand before you as a reflection of yourself, your heart, and your mind. I am here that you might see what those whom you call your persecutors see. You ask if they are the ones who are insane, but nay. They are the ones who are right in that they have accepted the present for what it is. You, my dear child, are insane. You have no longer come to understand the world as it is, but only see it as you wish to. You no longer are in control of your life, nor any life around you. If you cannot accept this, then you will never be rid of me; you will never escape insanity.
Insane? Perhaps truth does lie somewhere deep in this creature of insanity. Were they truly right to say that I have lost touch? Am I...insane? But how could I have lived so long outside of this truth? Will I never be rid of this plague? Is there no way to escape the truth an live again in myself? Perhaps. And yet, what will I gain from this? I must do what I must; whatever fate has befallen me, I must obey. I have no choice, it seems, lest I be deemed insane. There is no escape. How cruel destiny is, to lay upon me this duty. But, I shall do what is asked of me. The world will see what God has in store, and I shall be free of my insanity.

Good job for those of you that realized it was Rhia speaking the entire time. Yes, this is a monologue.