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Rassilon sat at the head of a long table, alone and starving. But Rassilon had convinced himself he had no need of food. Rassilon had no need of drink. Rassilon had no need of sleep. There was a cold pain in Rassilon's stomach but Rassilon didn't show it on his face. He sat with his back straight and his head held high. Rassilon was breathing exactly once every two point five seconds. Rassilon hadn't slept in forty-two and a half days, but did not show his exhaustion on his face. Rassilon would not let himself be controlled by the regular functions of his body.
Even in the privacy of his bedchambers, he keeps it up. For it was not an act but a lifestyle. A mental ailment.
The room was cleaned and polished, not a single germ on the floor or cobweb in the corner. No unwanted illnesses and nobody around. It would be heaven for Rassilon if clean was what he wanted, if heaven could even accomodate such a man. And how could it? When Rassilon doesn't act like a man, nor get treated as one. Men have desires, needs and limits. Rassilon does not believe he's subject to the same constraints. Subject to anything.
One might describe him as delusional if they didn't know any better. If you lived inside his head you might think differently. Rassilon's mind was an orderly place, with self scrutiny so accurate it would be hard to call him living in the realm of delusion. Rassilon saw himself from an outsiders perspective, saw his own body as it breathes at perfect intervals. He knew exactly how his facial expressions appeared to others, no matter the regeneration. He constantly analysed his appearance, his clothes and his hair, knew if even one strand was out of place.
Rassilon's mind was hard as diamond. Many have tried to peer into the mind of their president only to hit the solid wall. There was an unlucky soul who had a stronger mental capacity and had pierced Rassilon's diamond defences. The structure of Rassilon's mind had driven the outsider mad, and soon his own mind was broken down by the antibodies of the president's inner world. That poor man had suffered from constant hunger and chronic insomnia ever since.
Rassilon was a man trying to be something more. Seeing other life forms as lesser and only amounting to animals was not enough. Being a Gallifreyan Time Lord was not enough. Being president was not enough. Rassilon wanted to be God.