Diary of a Mad Man
September 2, 2017
I am writing this journal on toilet paper with my own excrement. Embarrassingly low I have become since my admittance into this looney bin. If the nurses knew they would toss out my journal after Dr. Kinderhouse has the chance to pry into my private thoughts and jot down notes in my file. My file almost a bloody novel by now sits heavy on Dr. Kinderhouse’s cherry red desk like a revered bible. I know he is thumbing through it late at night chuckling to himself as to how he was able to keep me silent; holed up in this dump.
“We here at Time Forgotten, are a mixed variety of the criminally insane and neurotic rich men and women who have forgotten their place in the hall of deceit.”
The clicking of the roaches distracts me and drives me crazy. I hate roaches. Always have. They are nasty little buggers. The damned place smells of decades of piss, shit, and fear. They try to cover up the foul smells with disinfectants that fog the mind. Making me feel like a roach being fogged to death. I will try to write later; almost medicine time. I have to make sure to get this out of here somehow. I have to get the truth out of this place. Truths seem to turn into lies in this place.
September 3, 2017
Let me describe the procedure of medicine time quickly. The nurses have us line up single file in silence as they push the pills under our tongue and wait for us to swallow. Then they take their fingers and make a swoop around my mouth to make sure I have swallowed the lethal cocktail Dr. Kinderhouse has prescribed to help get my so-called paranoia under control. Schizophrenic paranoia is what he has diagnosed me as having, a very severe case stemming from an inflammation of my brain which begs for a very severe round of medication. At least that is what I am told.
“The population was ever growing while feeding them was getting harder. The government had to be seen doing something. So they put a hit out on their own people.”
We here at Time Forgotten, are a mixed variety of the criminally insane and neurotic rich men and women who have forgotten their place in the hall of deceit. Plates filled with shit and blood of those we lost when it could have been avoided. This is the type of talk that brought me to these rust colored walls with little rabbits that might have been white in a past decade. Nestled deep in the green mountainside of Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountain, I am not a threat. I could be though. I could entice civil unrest with the information I have…well now. I am sure they have destroyed my office and home making sure that there is no evidence that may surface after I am classified as non-threatening. Meaning soon and very soon I will be lobotomized losing everything I have ever known including myself.
September 5, 2017
I do not have much time. My visit with Dr. Kinderhouse did not blow over so well yesterday. I was hoping to show improvement so to halt the lobotomy; however, the mix of Thorazine and a high dose of anxiety medicine made the Dr.’s questions come out too loud piercing my eardrums. I am so preoccupied trying to adjust to the bright incandescent lights and the echoing of sounds bouncing off the light beige walls that the screaming seems to come from another room, maybe even another place altogether.
“Turn the lights down and shut the fuck up!” I didn’t even realize I was the one screaming. I thought it was another miserable patient screaming down the hall. I find myself tied up like a pretzel. Now I am really in for it. The white jacket of madness keeps my hands tied while the dosing of medicine has me drooling. How undignified can you get? They have set a date for the procedure. Two days from now. I am almost to a point that I don’t care. Let those people who cannot think on their own be duped by their own appointed government. They did not stand and cry out when I was imprisoned here. No one cried out when they saw the images of thousands of crying mothers hovering over the mangled bodies of their small children. Parents were scared to send their children to school. No one never knew when another attack might wreck a warm cloudless day.
I had encrypted the message calling for a national cleansing starting at the middle school level. The population was ever growing while feeding them was getting harder. The government had to be seen doing something. So they put a hit out on their own people. They contracted out to the Keshims, who would do this awful deed to get into Paradise. Like it even exists! Especially after all those school shootings, killing thousands of kids, injuring hundreds, with many ending up in places like here. Everything was planned so deftly and silently. The government would not receive any backlash because it was seen as a terrorist mission which the media latched to working people into a fervor causing more fatalities among the Keshims. American civilians started attacking the Keshims. Their homes, businesses, and temples were looted and burnt with a few of the owners being crucified, upside down on a wooden cross standing erect outside a church in South Georgia. This was allowed for a time. I guess certain officials wanted to make sure there wasn’t anyone to back up my claim.
September 9, 2017
There are symbols etched into the wall. There are words and phrases that I think someone else left behind. I am not sure what they mean or if they mean anything. I do like tracing them with my finger. They think I have gone mute since my time in the straightjacket. Let them think that. I am tired of giving people pieces of me and getting nothing but trouble back in return. My wrists are angry and red from the coat of madness and the nurses’ tired of this job yank when I acted like I was not paying attention. I have started staring at the wall and smiling this crazy “I know something you don’t” smile. Drives them crazy for some reason. A full moon tonight means lockdown because us mad folks are affected by the roundness of the moon and the shadows it throws in our rooms. I see my wife standing holding another man’s child. Her low moaning driving me mad as dust bunnies dance and fuck. Wait. I never married. I was close once but for love of my job I backed out. What job? What did I do for a living? I am losing focus on reality. My name is fuzzy on my tongue sticking there not wanting to come out my dry mouth. What color is my hair? My eyes? Funny I thought I knew these things yesterday. What was yesterday?
I stop a nurse to ask her where I was. Smith is her name or it says on her name badge. She looks at me with deep brown eyes almost the color of melting chocolate. She is actually pretty with her pouty pink lips but then she pulls them in showing off rows of straight teeth, then tilts her head back and howls this ugly sound. Mirth and pity. I back away as she looks back at me with tears in her eyes. She places her cool hands on my shoulders and navigates me down the hall in front of the nurse’s station blazing white and sterile. She unzips a row of metal teeth and reaches into this blood red bag. I shrink away from her cold hands wanting to shrug off the feeling of dread as she pulls out this round thing she opens which has a mirror.
Nurse Smith holds the mirror up and tells me to look. I find almost everything normal. I see lips, a nose; one eye blinks at me dull blue while the other has a dirty patch over it. Then I hear Nurse whats-her-face say something about a transorbital lobotomy. She is not real pretty. Nope. In fact, I don’t like her at all and I tell her this as she leads me back to my dark Spartan room. I found this paper stuffed in my ratty mattress. Smells like shit so I ripped off that part and flushed it. My story will be told.