"The mirror shattered into countless shards, fascinated by the shattered images splayed around his feet, so many different faces stared back, each revealing it's own singular truth. To fix the mirror or not. If haphazardly fastened together, the image displayed would be cracked and fragmented. He reasoned the mirror would only be frail, capable of only distortion, not at all a suitable likeness. It's essence would be a lie. But if left as is, each shard showing his face from a different angle, each would hold and encapsulate it's own truth. Each face could have it's own destiny and it's own reality, and none could be a lie. The shattered mirror was a portent of the future, fate had shown it's hand, he would not fight against it's silent calling. Why struggle to piece together the many, instead he chose to accept what was. Instead of one reality, a reality formulated by those in power to suit their needs, conform and mould him into the ideal, before him lay a world of many destinies, of possibilties. Reaching down he carefully retrieved one of the shards from the floor. This particular piece, by some almost supernatural fate, was shaped into the most cruel hook. Slowly he brought it close, it spoke to something deep inside, an untapped intellect and will previously hidden. Manifest destiny, the glass hook, fragile, yet stronger than flesh, it became part of him, an extension of thumb and finger. He touched each retina, forcing just enough inward pressure, but not puncturing, he ran the edge slowly along his tongue, tasting the blood that was freed from it's meaty confines. His vision focused, reality heightened, this wasn't surreal, for him it was hyper-reality, color, sound, smell and touch magnified and impacted his body. It was time, reaching for the inter-com in his room, he called for the orderly.In one long, languid motion he ran his new extension across his throat, even giving it a slight twist and a push, pull motion, a little touch of depravity. It was a gracefull display of intended malice. He heard the orderly arrive outside his door, gaining courage from his many new faces and identities, he was resolute, he was legion, and hell would follow with him."
Forgive me I start and things just go.

The human mind and psyche fragmented; the parts greater than the whole. Instead of warring within to maintain a singular truth or identity, you have freed yourself of this burden, forming many. Each answerable only to itself, unconcerned with the founding flesh,the original mind. Each face in search of self-determination, free of fear from an overlord that seeks to coalesce the fragments into a singular whole at all cost. In other words your soul is far from the madness that others would attribute to an individual (individuals) such as yourself. No overmind acting as mediator to the sparring identities trapped within one, occasionally appearing with some inane or obscure agenda, at the most inopportune times. Instead each is allowed to manifest and act as dictated by scenario or situation. Maybe that is what diffentiates you from those that suffer in the throes of dementia praecox, you simply gave yourself or selves the freedom at some crucial point in your life. Other individuals possibly fought and feared this reality to such an extent that they are now locked in a twilight world, victims of a war within themselves (shellshocked so to speak). As for you, no madness or medication, far healthier in mind and spirit than a good deal of the populace.
I like it and wished I handled it half as well!
Still many questions arise, some may ask; does the original exist and if so which one is it. Has it ceased to function, eyes open but blind and souless. There is a larger question,(it deals with the question of fear) something I once read, it reads as follows:
A day will come when you no longer see what is exalted about you; A day when you see what is loathsome about you; your elevated nature itself will plunge you into terror,as though it was a ghost. A day will come when you howl: All is false!
I'm sure that you know or will easily surmise the author's identity. With the intellect you possess, I have no doubt you understand why the above is so apropos. For others reading, do I find this individual loathsome, not at all. I find him fascinating, much to both despise and admire, in his lies there is truth and so on. A paradox to be sure, but isn't that to be expected from website that deals with the paranormal.

In Reply To: I am Many. The darkest truth-The brightest lie. (Between Heavon and Earth)