The Manic Episode Part I: Reaction

The first cop (let’s call him Sir Lunge-a-Lot) lunges at me in an ill-fated attempt to grab my throat.  I parry his attacking arm away and slam the end of the stapler into his temple.  The other cop (a.k.a. Bat Boy) hits me three times with his steel baton.  He swings once at my thigh and another time at my upper arm.  I don’t feel a thing and his face has that “oh shit” thing going on once he realizes what he’s up against.  On his third strike, I punch him in the chest with my stapler hand and knock him on his ass.  After that, I shrug off a weak tackle from a dazed Sir Lunge-a-Lot while running away, but am I wind up at a dead end with nothing but a door to an office greeting me.  So I  break the glass on the window of the office with my elbow and pick up a dagger-like piece of glass.  Bat Boy is on my trail and pulls his gun out upon seeing me holding my new weapon.

He points the gun at my chest and screams “Drop it.”  Since I don’t want to get shot and I assume the simulation is over, I drop it. “Get down on the ground!  Face down!” Do that, too.  Once I’m lying half naked on the ground, Bat Boy sprawls on top of me, flips me over, elbows me in the face, and flips me back on my stomach.  Sort of unnecessary, but fun none the less.  By that point Sir Lunge-a-Lot is back for thirds.  Bat Boy cuffs me and reinforcements start piling in.  After the cuffs are on I start resisting like any crazy person would and should.  I wrap my legs around Sir Lunge-a-Lots right leg and begin trying to do a Joe Theismann (i.e. make his leg permanently go a way that it shouldn’t) on him.  Bat Boy starts wailing on me with his baton to save his partner (Note to cops: Not a good thing to do when there are security cameras).  After a few whacks I let go of his leg and come up with other ways to struggle.  I tell them I’m on meth and heroin and that I murdered my roommate.  One cop said I was in “deep shit” because I hit police officers and I said “Fuck da police.”  He kicked me in the face for that one (Note to cops:  Seriously, don’t do that when you’re on camera).  My clever retort involves spitting on his boot.  Another cop finally decides to be the voice of reason and says that if I calm down and tell him my name and birthday, he will get me out of this.  So I tell him my real name and give him a fake birthday just to fuck with him.  Seeing an end to this is a relief because 30 minutes of attacking, being attacked, and struggling is tiring even for a crazy person and/or meth addict.

The paramedics come to pick me up and that was that.  There are people standing around outside by the ambulance watching me be taken away.  One guy seems to be particularly interested in what is happening.  Something about him standing so close to the ambulance and looking at me with his eyes.  He’s wearing a brown jacket and jeans.  Hopefully that narrows it down enough so one of my readers can track him down and ask him why he’s such a lookie-loo.  They bring my RA(Resident Assistant), Steve, to come identify me and he has the most freaked out look I’ve ever seen anyone have.  He probably wasn’t anticipating that he’d have to deal with this shit in exchange for free room and board.  After Steve verifies my identity, they take me off to the hospital and onto my next adventure in the hospital.

The Manic Episode Part II: Guardians

The paramedics wheel me into the overcrowded emergency room.  At least 10 other cops are standing there waiting to take a look at the skinny kid who nearly took down two of their worn.  All except two were looking at me with a mixed face of fear, confusion, and disgust.  The two who don’t seem to give a fuck about me ended up being my temporary Guardians for the night.  My first Guardian is a muscular nurse with bleach blonde hair, metal hoop earrings and tattoos on his arms.  I tell Guardian Nurse that I will pull those hoops right out of his ears and he looks at me hoping I would try it just so he could beat the shit out of me.  The second is a police officer packing a taser that he could swivel and fire from his holster.  He had that thing pointed at me for most of the night.  Even without the Taser, I bet he could have taken me down hand to hand.  He has natural blonde hair and was a little taller than me (I’m 5,10), but he has the body of a collegiate wrestler and a huge neck.  These two guys are the dynamic duo who could take me down if I tried anything.  Whatever. I’m done fighting.

I sit and wait in the ER bed for a long time.  My right hand is handcuffed to the metal railing on the side of the bed and Guardian Cop is sitting nearby with his hand resting on his Taser.  A familiar character walks past my bed.  He’s shorter than me and has white facial hair and nothing but stubble on the top of his head.  He looks to be in his 50’s and has a medium build, but I think he can handle himself in a fight despite his age and size.  He’s wearing doctors scrubs and just walks past my station like I’m not even there.  

Soon after the familiar stranger walks past my station, a new cop shows up to escort me to the radiology wing.  He’s an older guy and doesn’t seem powerful so I don’t know why they decided to send him to escort me alone.  He cheerfully asks me “Do you have any idea how many guys you fought off?”  I think he became the first member of my fan club.  Maybe he didn’t like one of those poor assholes I whacked with the stapler.  A kind, chubby lab technician is waiting for us by the CT scan machine.  I lay down on tray and the tech tells me I’m going to feel cold liquid running through my body.  I do and it’s weird and I suspect they’re injecting it into my spine.  The scan takes a few minutes and then it’s back to my bed, my handcuffs, and my Guardians.

Guardian Nurse comes by and tells me it’s time to give a urine sample so they can find out what I’m on.  I don’t have any piss to share with them so they warn me that if I don’t produce they’re going to shove a catheter up my dick.  That freaks me out and I close my legs in fear of that possibility.  I ask them to give me water or something, but they refuse because it can be used to hide whatever drug they think I’m on.  They finally decide to compromise and give me a small styrofoam cup of ice chips.  Let’s take a moment to pause and appreciate the fact that hospitals have the best ice cubes.  They’re like little aerated cylinders and they’re so crunchy.  There should be a brand of store bought ice called “Hospital Chips.”  Anyway…after chomping on the ice chips I finally found the courage to force out a urination.  My two Guardians work in tandem to hand me the plastic cup and uncuff my right arm.  They are kind enough to let me face a wall while I pee into the cup.  After an arduous struggle to force out some pee, I finally get the cup filled to a decent level.  I hand it back to Guardian Nurse and get back in the bed so the cop can chain me back up. 

I have a pretty fun time watching everyone go into shock when the chubby lab technician comes by to tell them that there were no injuries on the CT scan and my urine was free of any drugs.  There is no explanation for how I was able to do any of that and walk away with no major damage except for drugs.  Now that drugs are out of the question, what the fuck really happened?

The Manic Episode Part III: Close Your Eyes

“You really are crazy?” Guardian Cop says at me while staring into my soul.
“Functionally crazy,” I respond in an almost humorous tone. 
That makes Guardian Nurse laugh. Across the hall there is an overweight prepubescent boy and his father visiting a patient.  The boy won’t stop looking at me and acting out martial arts moves.  He calls me “The Assassin.”  I stare at them long enough that the father requests that the patient be moved and they leave.

Fast forward in time and a young Indian doctor in a white coat approaches my bedside.  She asks me if I’ve ever suffered abuse and I break down crying.  I try to gather the words to explain how my older brother would beat me when he hit puberty and knew who was stronger than me.  How after he brutalized me he would then go and tell my parents that I started it so I would get in trouble.  How I was punished even though I was bleeding all over my face and my attempts to defend myself were useless against a stronger and angrier opponent.  Don’t worry about me readers.  I hit puberty 2 years later and I became much worse than he was at that age.  And I did not forget what he did to me.  Three months prior to the events of this story, he attempted to punch me in the face and I broke his fucking kneecap.  I’ll never be his victim again.  Now he has a permanent reminder of that.

Carrying on with the story.  I tell the nice doctor this story and she writes something down.  I don’t mention the molestation by my cousin since I wasn’t ready to discuss that with strangers and I hated psychiatrists.  Since my first answer satisfies her requirements, she moves me on to the next round of testing.  She holds a clipboard in front of me.  The attached paper has a triangle and a circle.  She asks me to duplicate those as best I can.  My right hand is cuffed so I do my best version of a triangle and a circle using my left hand.  They are not good, but she understands and gives me one more test.  She says to write a response to this text: “CLOSE YOUR EYES.”  With my left hand, I respond: “I AM TIRED.”  She’s satisfied and has me sign the paper.  She walks away and out of my life. I follow the instructions from the paper and close my eyes.  I hadn’t slept more than 10 hours over the past 7 days so it was time for me to give in.

I briefly open my eyes to meet a new doctor, Kevin Kitchen.  He’s going to sew up the gaping wound under my arm.  Guardian Cop undoes my handcuffs.  I turn away from the doctor and close my eyes per the instructions of the almighty paper.  I don’t feel anything and he finishes in a few minutes.  Cuffs go on and I start drifting away.  I hear someone say, “they are going to teach him some crazy shit.”  I don’t know what that means and am too tired to ask.

I wake in my bed with my eyes half shut.  I see a muscular black man standing over me talking to Guardian Cop.  He’s a Beast and seems to look down on my Guardian.  I close my eyes before he can see me awake.
“Why didn’t they elbow him in the face?” he asks.
“He did.  It didn’t work.” Guardian Cop responds.  “I’m telling you man, this guy is better than you think.”
“It doesn’t matter.  We retrain them.”
The Beast grabs my cuffed arm with an iron grip.  He takes off the handcuff and secures a heavier handcuff in its place.  He leaves without another word and I quickly fall back asleep.