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    The Half-Life of Darkness
    The Half-Life of Darkness
    The Half-Life of Darkness
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    The Half-Life of Darkness

    By Fumi Suzuki

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    About this ebook

    Throughout her life Natsu was constantly spied upon; decades had passed without a shred of proof. Can she ever regain her peace of mind? A soulful novel that questions societies unjustness. “I am watched by someone.” Both sides of her mental conflict are told in this tale, which intertweaves fact and fiction. Now, what is the truth?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOne Peace Books
    Release dateJul 20, 2019
    ISBN9781642730456
    The Half-Life of Darkness

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      Book preview

      The Half-Life of Darkness - Fumi Suzuki

      Two

      1. The Sakisaka Sessions: Part One

      Schizophrenia. The word rolls off the tongue.

      Until only a few years ago, the name continued to fuel misconceptions of the disease. Derived from the Greek roots schizo (split) and phrene (mind), the term was originally intended to describe scatterbrained thinking. Now we know that it's not so clear cut, as there are many levels of nuance. Schizophrenic. The word is somewhat cryptic, like some incomprehensible disease. But there's nothing ambiguous about a split-mind. Anyone would be on guard after hearing the term. The split-minds would strike fear, and people would treat them like the insane, afraid they might snap and attack at the slightest provocation.

      I feel that lost in the labelling, few people pause to consider the afflicted or to wonder what series of events transpired to lead them to their present, sorry state.

      Everyone except for one doctor.

      Of course, I believe the disease's name does manifest itself fully in certain patients, who exhibit the classical symptoms. Even I would concede that those who engage with their hallucinations, locked in a dialogue with a cast of invisible characters, might warrant the term schizophrenic.

      But what do I know?

      I'm not a mental health expert, and besides, I wonder how they settled on their diagnostic criteria in the first place.

      Although I do have my own theories, I can still be angry. I still don't fully understand why I was diagnosed as a schizophrenic.

      The doctor is aware of what's happening in my body. He may understand my reality, but unable to see this world for himself, will never truly know.

      As the days slip by, the truth remains elusive. I didn't choose this reality, it chose me. And this unelected reality has become unbearable. When I hear the malicious rumors, it only serves as a painful pinprick to the heart, ultimately leading to nothing but anger.

      But I suppose they would just say this is another symptom of schizophrenia?

      Natsu felt the odious darkness spread through her body. The uninvited lodger who had taken up residence in her heart for years. She shivered in revulsion. Her face did not betray her seething rage.

      Dr. Anzai was the first to name my disease, all of 25 years ago.

      Although advanced in years, Dr. Anzai was unlike the coldly clinical diagnosticians of his generation and spoke with a compassionate softness. The first counseling session gave me the strong impression that he saw me as a human being, and truly prioritized my mental wellbeing.

      However, my experience with psychologists would prove to not be what I had hoped for.

      Without explanation and unbeknownst to me, my room was filled with contrivances that exposed all aspects of my personal life to prying eyes. Tell me, who would possibly willingly accept such a betrayal of privacy?

      And they say Japan is a fair and democratic nation.

      The same Japan that is idolized the world over as a beautiful utopia.

      Yet it is in Japan that surveillance has become an everyday fact of life. The individual is surveilled without need for justification or explanation. It is here that I simply while away the days, never told the truth.

      No, this does not seem to be conduct befitting an alleged democracy.

      Regardless, my life remains subject to constant scrutiny. Kept in the dark, I have yet to find a way to rectify this sordid state of affairs.

      The life of scrutiny and imposed ignorance is nothing but suffering. The crushing weight of this anguish has only served to fill my heart with hatred.

      To make matters worse, my observers refuse to even grant me the right to anger.

      Perhaps that was part of the problem.

      Dr. Anzai scribbled a note next to my name: schizophrenic.

      During one of those many counseling sessions, I caught a glimpse of the word on his clipboard.

      My heart raced, I was so blinded by the shock.

      Schizophrenia is a serious disease, and not something that can be discussed lightly.

      Looking back, I acknowledge that I led a turbulent lifestyle around the time of my diagnosis. If you only saw flareups of my temper, you might have had reason to believe that something was out of the ordinary.

      But my rage wasn't without cause or reason. At the time, I simply wasn't equipped to understand the position I had found myself in. Without any means of comprehension, the circumstances felt unbearable. I could only think that I was trapped in a cesspool of abject injustice.

      Of course, I still feel that way today.

      So long as they continue to peer into my life without explanation.

      This is something I've discussed many times. I believe Dr. Anzai has informed you of the situation in detail.

      At the time, I was truly in an awful mess. Even I knew the gravity of the situation. I was like a rampaging madwoman, a knotted ball of unadulterated rage ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

      I simply couldn't take it anymore.

      I couldn't take it mentally.

      I couldn't stand the surveillance of every aspect of my life. Every nook and cranny of my room had been secretly outfitted with the tools to observe my every move. Even if secreted away, so as to evade detection, their presence was evident by observing the behavior of those around me.

      What's been seen can't be unseen, and it's impossible for people to fully conceal what they know. As in poker, even the most stone-faced have a tell, and they couldn't help but inadvertently slip and reveal glimpses of their hand gained through stealthy reconnaissance.

      I suspect this reveal is uncontrollable, a fallibility of the subconscious.

      What's more, I learned that people are easily susceptible to influence from the words and actions of others.

      An unavoidable product of life in our all-too-human society is that we become preoccupied by the observable behavior of others on a surface level, though we do not pause to empathize or assess their motives on a deeper level. We are readily deceived by sight, believing that we understand the ins and outs of the observable world. Then we are overcome with an impulse to respond with commentary of our own.

      I—the observed.

      They believe they know all about me based on their peephole into my life. Avid voyeurs, they likely think they know me better than I know myself. But their gaze only penetrates skin

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