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Sunday 12 February 2012

-Doc- Safety, Sanity

Things have been so odd lately. August and I were just hanging out and playing cards, and I realized that I haven't felt this safe, relaxed, and comfortable in a long while. Even when I'm not feeding my addiction, my waking hours are quite enjoyable. However, they're even better when I am. I do get a bit talkative and...nostalgic, at times, but it could be worse. It could be so, so much worse.

I haven't been allowed to leave on delivery in awhile (or leave the House alone for extended amounts of time period), but my mental prognosis has been looking better. Not writing on any walls, certainly not in my own blood. (Okay, the unicorn fighting a t-rex I drew on my office wall in dry erase pen doesn't count, I was just bored that time.) Not cutting off any limbs, not hearing voices I shouldn't be, not gibbering to the walls like a lunatic. Just having nightmares of wicked things crawling through my head and waking up standing in the middle of the kitchen, or trying to open the back door. I usually go outside to get some air, it helps. Honestly, I think it's just leftover stress from the House going crazy and taking me with it; the dreams and sleepwalking have been tapering off since then. Haven't been seeing Him lately, so I must have snapped back into my old way of things, slipped into that induced complacency that kept me somewhat sane for so long.

I've missed sanity. I've slipped out of it far too many times before, and it's never easy to crawl back in. I like to compare it to falling out of a helicopter and having to grab on to one of its legs, then pull yourself back in before you fall off for good. Of course, if you can't grab on, there may be someone there to catch you, but it may not be who you want it to be. That someone might whisk you away with loving intent, and due to...circumstances, that intent becomes purely cruel and sadistic. Needles carrying an endless supply of drowsy thoughtlessness. Yelling. Abuse. You may call me a biased loon, but I can assure you that it truly was that bad. The Moon-Headed Shadow, as we patients came to call Him, began to...express himself through the hospital personnel. From the doctors and psychiatrists all the way down to the nursing assistants. Not all the hospital staff succumbed to His influence and became worse than the patients they were in charge of, however: one of the younger nurses discovered my love of Kurt Vonnegut. On slow days, she'd read to me for hours while I sat grinning and drooling. My favorite novel used to be Slaughterhouse-Five before she read it to me so much that I'd feel my mind start to frost over the moment she uttered the opening words. Can't really say I can bear to read it anymore, or even look at the cover: in retrospect, perhaps she HAD fallen to His influence, and that was her way of cementing me in my madness.

And all that can end it is being carried away in flames by a pair of compassionate hands, while the rest of it, all the others like you and your torturers, burn to ash. Then it's down to three: you, your savior, and the Moon-Headed Shadow looking on with an eyeless, judging stare. And so you're whisked away again with equally loving intent, but this time, to find a true sanctuary waiting in a dingy, smoke-filled apartment.

...you know, sitting around thinking about all of this probably isn't good for me. I need something to do: I'm think I'll talk to Steele about getting the hell out of here for awhile, I'm sure he'd be down for that. Spence will probably demand I be...more adequately supervised, just as a precaution, but we can find something that'll work. Maybe August's delivery? I don't know yet.

18 comments:

  1. No need to talk. I'm in. I'm done sitting alone with my memories, I need something to keep me in the moment.

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  2. Ah, mon petit poulet pépite, comment avez-vous été? Il a été un bon moment ne l'a pas? Nous avons vraiment besoin d'arrêter réunion de ce genre. Nous avons besoin d'une date réelle, comme ce que nous faisions. Aller en bas de la place avec les trucs et faire des choses avec les gens d'une disposition comme l'esprit.

    C'est vrai, je parle skeeball.

    Nous allions vers le bas pour l'arcade et vous obtiendrez tellement excitée à me regarder rouler boules jusqu'à cette voie comme la version plus sexy du jeu de quilles, et ils iraient dans les trous et je ferais le meilleur score et tout le couleur les filles vont doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo ...
    Et ton copain était jaloux de mon score élevé, ce qui m'a apporté tous les éloges de la galerie d'arachide. Tous les éloges. Je été frappant et pourpoint »tout au long de la nuit tandis que le gros chat ce qui pense qu'il est le fils de l'un Svelte est debout juste en arrière et ressassant le fait qu'il ne pourrait jamais faire foutre-douzaine de poules si son Johnson tige explosé, passant de l'impressionnant pure, je a été jetant sur ​​la voie.

    Puis, juste pour l'emmerder plus, je serais, vous serrer dans mes bras et doucement caresser cruches votre poppin '. Je penche vers le bas à côté de votre oreille et chuchote doucement "Bitch, aller me faire un sandwich." Et vous étiez juste humide avec la fureur chaude de tout cela. Puis le principal a montré en état d'ébriété et brûlé la place vers le bas et nous avons tous dû courir à la maison avant l'arrivée des policiers et a essayé de mettre le doigt sur nous innocentes jeunes-UNS. Le lendemain, au cours de la pep rally, il a commencé à râler au sujet de certains hooligans baise sur le toit jusqu'à ce que la passion brûlante brûlé le lieu et trucs sur le sexe et tuera singes en Asie. Je pouvais sentir le rosbif dans la cuisine, c'est beau parfum qui flotte sur la brise du soir la lumière ...

    Doc, sweetheart. You really shouldn't do drugs. They do terrible things to your mind, you know.

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  3. Ne mettez pas de sel dans vos yeux.

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  4. Donde está la biblioteca? Me llamo T-Bone La araña discoteca.

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  5. Did you guys crack out the morphine while I was away or something? :I

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  6. Uh. I'm glad you're feeling better, Lori. I'm really wishing I spoke... is that French?

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  7. "while you were away"? Do you KNOW me?

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  8. I took French in high school, which was a few years ago now. Some of that I can read, but mostly it doesn't make sense to me. Is it supposed to make sense?

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    Replies
    1. Ridley is just crazy in french now it seems.

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    2. Bientôt dans les ténèbres je dévore la vie de tous de la nuit.
      C'est vrai, maman sexy, j'aime les canards avec la sauce de soja.

      Ain't no party like all my peeps, in the hood, this weekend, yeah dawg! You're all invited, bring desserts, bring beer, bring lawn furniture, and we gonna do it like it's 1989!
      Until the cops show up, then we leave Spence to explain everything while we go tear up Jayjay's summer house in Boise. That cool wit' ya'll good to hear it.

      Stay frosty.

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  9. Je suis une petite fleur; je vais lancer une voiture dans la salle de bains avec Steele quand nous avons plus d'héroïne.

    See Ridley? It's not that hard. I didn't even have to use Google translate.

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    Replies
    1. Google translate? This is an insult! I speak perfect fluent french! Anything that didn't make sense was the result of circumstances and things! Perfectly almost intentional! I am offend, that after all the time we spent together in Casablanca, you would dare to question my integrity!

      Embrassez le cul du héron flamboyant avec vos électeurs du parti dans le box voisin!

      Restez glacial.

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    2. Tu parles Français comme un chien vole un avion.

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    3. I'll parle Francais de la meme manniere q'un chat ferrait l'algèbre.

      I question the integrity of anyone who plays fucking skeeball.

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    4. But you see Robin, he doesn't play skeeball: he speaks it. So clearly I should be crawling all over him for speaking such a noble and beautiful language.

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    5. "Tu parles Français comme un chien vole un avion."

      Yeah, you seein' how it goes all through the hood this shake-a, sweet down and around the forked chopstick on the breakdown, holmes.

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