"The Earth stands frozen,
The air on remote.
Sun never falls down,
Killing my oxitocyn"
Since when I turned back to poetry?
It used to be my hobby when I was a dreamy, emotionally reactive teenager.
Making rhymes helped me to discipline my moods after rough days at school.
As the time passed, I got used to violence and madness, looking at me from every corner of "Atlantis". Since I had no home without Gilbert in it, the walls of my working place looking like grids seemed cozy.
The work became addictive to me.
Happy Pierrot had his own vision and peculiar conspiracy, but I saw no reasons to call him mad.
His thinking was safe and normal, due to irony and distinctive humour. He was able to distance himself from traumatic situations, which became a defensive mechanism of his psyche.
Pierrot proved himself as able to kill a person, and his cruelty was out of doubt. However, the reason of this cruelty was not in sickness.
Unlike those who suffered from schizophrenia, Pierrot didn't torture animals as a kid – on the contrary, he turned his room into a zoo of different exotic beasts, from snakes to coyotes. It was strange, but not symptomatic.
Pierrot hated the world. He killed those whom he considered a threat – real, or imaginary. He thought that everyone he knew wanted to destroy him and it was them who purposefully put him in asylum.
The tests didn't confirm neither schizophrenia, nor psychopathy.
I tried to be objective, but I also wanted to help my patient.