Schizophrenia. The word itself is cruel beyond definition, yet necessary? No better example of how love can be cruel.

There's a me that can see how you see things...but no, I cast you into the abyss where you're wrong; no, your demons are not real, I cannot allow them to be, for your good, and for the good of mankind, and I allow myself the privilege of not suffering them as I see the torment on your face.

I could believe every word you speak and feel their claws upon you, but I appear as one face among many, one tormentor that appears in your fragmented world of chaos: The lord of your world which says: Your world is not real, I love you.

Your world is not accurate; I come up with a million reasons which scream across the abyss: Chemical imbalance; the chemical imbalance screeches into the abyss and dissolves what is real for you into hallucinations, not realities. Is it love, or unimaginable cruelty? I trap you in the machinations of chemistry; perishable chemistry; you're made of chemistry. I congeal you into a perishable body, for whom the suffering will end one day, bringing a version of you toward me which is fallible and is never fucked forever, like all the versions of you I don't want to see. I can not see such a thing. To me, your fears never manifest, and I cast into the abyss of nothingness every "you" in which they do.

Love was never so cruel. Can it be said to be love at all, if such things are done knowingly? Or is it mercy?