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It was a long time, but he wanted to be alone. In gentle solitude while the thoughts just dashed through his convoluted head. There weren't any conclusions, only speculations while he pondered and pondered. Guilt was the enemy, the gun he tried to fire was always aimed at himself. He's left in a critical condition every time but it can't be helped, it can't be stopped. Everything he did was internalised, it was never anybody else but himself. But that's what his conclusion was. It was always his conclusion. Every single time.

It was ridiculous, how can one internalise so much? How can one do this ones self? It's almost unfathomable to believe. He wondered where his sanity went, or if there were any sanity at all. But in pondering that particular question, it just occurred to him that he was always insane. Any attempt to think or prove otherwise was faced with cruel criticisms while he reeked of anger and frustration.

But maybe that was it, anger and frustration turned him insane.

So he walked into the desolate room with the incandescent light, switched it off, closed the door and shut the world off from his consciousness leaving him alone with himself.