Unexplained fate

    Days go by too slowly when you are in a sanatorium. The clouds outside, the sunshine, the trees, anything remind you of why you came in here. This way, is impossible to make the own madness a memory, so I don't think I'll ever get out of here. I am always arguing with my mistakes, redoing the curves I tried to deflect and slipped into them. I accept the terms that psychiatrists used to keep me here, because even I beg for the explanation of my actions. If there is no destiny, then life is made of unfortunate coincidences.

    I still remember when I loved my wife. I dedicated every second of my life to making her happy. We had a quiet life, it was just us and the stars every night - because during the day we worked. When I say that every second was spent with her, it is no exaggeration, I simply saw her image and her name in everything, as if she were my shadow. They said I had gone mad, but it wasn't true yet. Everything got out of hand when instead of silent kisses and hugs, we had fights that woke up the neighbors. She was cheating on me. I was sure, and instead of continuing the fights with which I only gained excuses, I started to follow her.  I simply set my work aside to know what was going on with my life. She was my life. It took 5 days for me to be sure of the betrayal. After parking, she entered a beautiful house without a wall like all the others in a neighborhood far away from ours. I was in my car, given by my father who always told me that if divorce had taught him anything, it is that the soulmate is only to destroy you and take your place back in the world. It made sense. In less than a minute everything that brought me the certainty that Eliza was my soulmate came to light. Like she was a piece of me but had only room in the world for one of us. At that moment I felt that she was destroying me, I was not going to die physically but it seemed that inside I was already dead. I don't even know how my mind went from sweet and in love to the killer, I just know that all my thoughts suddenly vanished with hatred. I got out of the car, walked into the house through the front door that didn't even bother to lock, perhaps because the desire was greater than the fear. And as I entered, I could see what I was thinking. The moans that came from the room spread throughout the house the desire that 1 month ago Eliza didn't show for me. I did not cry. Hate was still greater than anything. I took advantage that they were totally immersed in the pleasure to find a sharp knife in the kitchen. It wouldn't be such a bad death after all. I headed for the bedroom, knocked on the door and waited. I imagined the pleasure fading into fear and confusion. I knew Eliza would come to open the door with her protective spirit. So it happened and when she turned to the right, her frightened eyes met mine for 2 seconds before losing their sparkle as I stuck the knife into her chest. I ran out with the murder weapon in my hand, got into the car, drove home, buried the knife, took a shower, and sat on the bed. I began to think of what I fled to not see: the lover's face. What would it be like? Why did her attract her? Why didn't I want to see? I thought about returning that home but would be too suspicious. I waited 24 hours after Eliza's death and went to the police station to report that she was missing. My mother for first wanted to play her motherly role and went to my house to keep me company at this difficult time. 

    My house was no longer the same, I could still see Eliza everywhere, but I knew it was unreal images. I wasn't sure if my conscience was heavy or I missed the easy life that illusion provides. My mother didn't question me for not wanting to see the news or for not being desperate. About 15 days ago she had heard about our fights. At our third dinner together, she told me that the delegate had called to let them know they found Eliza's body buried in a madwoman's house, as subtly as she could. I cried. She sure thought it was pain, but it was joy. It seems that the mistress was not very intelligent. Now it would be even harder to prove she was innocent. 

    The next day I went to the police station very early. They told me that they had not yet found the murder weapon but that the housewife had confessed the same without mentioning her motives and was already awaiting trial. I could not believe it. I cried again, this time with relief, and once again I was sure no one knew it wasn't pain.

    My mother insisted on staying with me for a few more days. Damn days! Sometimes she would go to my room when I was already sleeping and all of them would hear me call Eliza and say something about a knife. During the day, she caught me talking to myself, hugging the air. What brought me to this place where I am now is that I said I was going to visit the "killer" with a tangle of flowers that I myself picked - or stole - in my neighbor's garden. I tried to explain to 3 psychiatrists that it wasn't true that she saw Eliza around the house and didn't call for her in dreams, but the truth seemed to be even more terrifying.

    When I was at the police station last time, I saw this killer, I knew her name was Lia. At some point, I said I was going to the bathroom but I went to see her in your temporary cell. I approached, she had her head down, I asked "Why?" and without understanding, she raised her head and asked if she knew me. As soon as his eyes drifted toward mine, I had no answer to any questions. I left. However, her image replaced every memory of Eliza, and if I screamed her name in dreams, it was trying to say, "Don't be with Eliza." I remember my dream. It was the same every night. I repeated what I did the day I killed her, but instead of running, I reached out to Lia and said, "Don't stay with Eliza, I'll hide your body with this knife and it's just you and me." Needless to say, I accept being called crazy, but obviously I'm not alone. In addition to so many other strangers, I see Lia sunbathing in the garden every day. Lia had consultations with psychiatrists right after trying to kill herself hanged on a sheet in jail and saying she just wanted to get rid of me. Unfortunately for her, there are only 1 sanatorium in the city and soon they sent her here.

    The first time I saw her here - out of my visions - I asked her again "Why?". It seems that this time she understood, because she told me "Because fate wanted it that way". I dare not question anything else, by the way, nor do I need to. I live in a place where everything is allowed. And if I am mad, the least of my peculiarities is to subject myself to fate; something beyond a word that exists but cannot be medicated. Each afternoon walking alongside Lia is a step further into the abyss of madness. Not to mention that many times at night, I hear my father's phrase echoing in the dark. Now I understand that despite being a fact, this destruction is the best thing in my limited life. After all, I've already taken my soulmate out of the way, why not let the space be filled for the cause of your absence?