Granted. The cake is no longer a lie, and it becomes painfully obvious that it was never a cake at all. It was merely a figment of the imagination, a hallucination, a visual deceit you played on yourself to remind you of the days before the tests, the world beyond the sterile, white walls. It was only a waking dream, to help you keep your sanity in this enclosed nothingness you inhabit. Having now awoken from your self-conjured illusions of luxury, you snap, descending into full-blown madness, no longer able to keep a coherent thought for more than rapidly passing moments that feel like everlasting eternities inside the cold walls, your sole companions being a box and the voices in your head.
I wish I could purchase and successfully live on an island outside the jurisdiction of common law, alone except the select few individuals I choose to join me and the wildlife.