It would not be so hard to go crazy. To just let go; to quit living by conventions. In some ways, it is harder sane. It would be so much more free to strip yourself of all of your inhibitions, to say what you wished to say whether it is true or not, to act how your sentiments moved you, to go places for no other reason than to get lost. Being insane would not be so sad if it were voluntary. You would have no obligations. The world would run according to your clock. It may require a little fabrication. You may have to exercise your mind to stretch to unprecedented levels of fiction, but that would be your only job. You would not be prisoner to Society or convention. You could sing in the park, you could wear clothes or not, you could refuse to make phone calls, you could dream without going to sleep.
I have a feeling, however, that this pretend psychosis may have the same result as real insanity. When friends start to abandon you, or only visit on occasion; when you are stuck in this world of invention and you wish only to ground yourself in something real; when the game of playing the crazy person looses its lust. This may not be so free any more. You have forgotten how to behave, and how not to behave. You may grow sick of finding yourself amongst vegetables and the real insane. Insanity would not be so easy to escape as it would be to enter. At least when you really are crazy, you don’t know that you are. In a world of fake madness your thoughts are always tempted by the knowledge that this is all a front that you could shake it off if you wanted to- you could go back to normal. But you could not. You would be questioned why you would do such a thing, why you would attempt the impersonation, if you were not, infact, mentally imbalanced. Pretending insanity would be the greatest irony.It would be the emptiest fulfillment. It would be the most depressed hapiness. It would be the most free prison.