The Anti Christ Trials and Tribulations, Schizophrenia in the 21st century

THE ANTI-CHRIST

Trials and Tribulations are SCHIZOPHRENIA IN THE 21st CENTURY

HOW THE HELL DID I GET HERE

Everything had always been over for me. Hi, welcome to the cuckoos house. I'm being strapped to a hospital bed. Those dammed white suits. They code whited me. They had me completely surrounded. Holding me down. My legs. My arms. Even my head. But I'm not even resisting. Like what the fuck. I'm completely still. Holding back the urge to go nuts and start throwing knock out punches. Women and men without prejudice. Imagining pleading self defence in court. Explaining to the judge how it was all over a cookie wrapper and thus justified by them getting physical with me, for no reason. I could have knocked them all out. It's easily done with practice. I’ve had lots and done it at least twenty times. Out numbered. Fighting mad crowds of people all by myself. One time I knocked seven guys out one after the other until I got a cheap shot from some gubbly eyed bouncer twice my size who couldn't possibly take me on his own. One good hook up under the jaw just rubbers the legs right under you. Instead I'm not doing anything. I'm remaining stoic. Playing it victim style as i was. The fucking cookie wrapper wasn't even mine. Maybe it was. Who cares. It's still no reason to attack someone calmly writing in bed. The real reason was that I was refusing medication for schizophrenia.

I'm just pleading to Richard, the head nurse, as they all surround me and pin me down on the bed.

“I didn’t do anything... I didn’t do anything Richard, you gotta believe me, he assaulted me over a cookie wrapper.” Saying “I didn't do anything,” over and over until the hot nurse comes rushing into the room. It's a fucking code white. The alarm blares all over the institution sending everyone running from every single ward to take you out. Fucking code white. It means someone's gone ballistic. Freaking right the fuck out. Started hurting someone or themselves. But, I'm not into self harming and they hadn’t the privilege to be introduced to Darren Bouchard gone ballistic. Knocking out both genders without prejudice. I could have knocked them all out until the police arrived and tasered me. Like everyone I have a natural aversion to being electrocuted. It could have, but I doubt it, turned into disarming the cops and being more then they can handle and having to call the military in. But that's stretching it. You gotta pick your battles and this one wasn't going to end well for me in any way. So I stay collected and try and reason my way out of it with the truth. I was assaulted. But they gotta get me on those meds.

The hot nurse. Long black straight hair. Brown eyes and skin toned like an almond. The instant she enters the seclusion room and recognizes it’s me, and realizes the code white was called on me she gives me this sympathetic head tilt down and eyes lowering look and then back up at me again. Like she was compassionate. Caring. Disappointed. Sad to see it was me. And that I was in full crisis mode. Blazing with rage. Schizophrenic of the fringe. Psychotic episode ensuing. Not. I'm calm and collected. “Richard, i didn’t do nothing. A victim. That's the sympathy I needed. A single shot of the truth. Not a needle.

The thought quickly popped in my head how I wanted to fuck her. But how pathetic is this image. Held down to a bed. Crying of my innocence. A spectator to the pseudo loss of the only thing that matters. The mind.

She made it just in time as they pulled the pants down right off me. Leaving me exposed. Wearing my Restigouche issued underwear. Gray briefs with probly my nut hanging out. I feel her presence but just keep pleading to Richard. He hears me. But he doesn't care. Mental illness is a facade. Make up for cookie sheet cut outs that came out wrong. Or bad copy jobs on the photo copier. Conspiracies. Scandals. Real life experiences. A long storey where no one believes you. Your just dismissed as defective. The stigma of a whole escapade like the one I'm about to tell you, drives many people to suicide. They take their own life because their life was disturbed and you fucked them up more with your treatment and biases. Once they hit you with a label they gouge the shit out of you to get you back into the cookie cutter. There’s a plauque directly outside the seclusion room that bolsters your rights as a patient inscribed with the very same words, every patient has the right to refuse treatment. It’s bullshit once your in the system. They wear you down and break you. Adding time to your incarceration for not complying. Taking away privileges. Killing the strength of your spirit with their sanitized doctor room smelling atmosphere.

Mental illness. No one understands it unless they’ve gone through it, even more when it's forced and the effect it has on you. No one is normal. Completely sane. There's no magical line people are plotted on. Everyone's a fucked up photo copy. A botched cookie cut out. Everyone pretty much has it to some degree. Have you seen the world? It’s pretty much fucked. We’re all mad down here. Everyones living in their own little worlds they’ve created. Comfortable with the status of the world they were fed to believe since children. The media. The masses. The state. It’s all lies. Everyone's brainwashed some way or another. Just think of the gullibility starting with fairies for your teeth. Easter bunnies shitting chocolate wrapped in tinfoil and a fat Santa squeezing into chimneys he can't possibly fit and stopping one by one at all the children’s houses of the world. Economic. Consumerist. Capitalistic society. Plus all the fear mongering imps of the world. Keep you safe, but leave you with something to fear. Small things like acne and weight. Low self esteem. Non acceptance. War. Terrorism. Viruses. Vaccines.

Take schizophrenia for example. We’ve all been given a bad wrap. We’re depicted as the psycho paths in movies. Go on mass murders. Skin and wear people's faces around. Stalk and kill people. Most of them are good at heart and most infractions they commit are minor nuisances. The rare extreme cases of those who kill believe they're doing it with pure intent. Riding the world of some demon possessed person. Statistically schizophrenic people kill way less then same ones. Schizophrenic’s rights are trampled on. We’re dragged through the mud and left with haunting stigma. Like we’re all fucked and no good. Damaged and worthless. Authorities, they make mountains out of ant hills and use petty crimes to force their drugs and treatment on you. Some need it, but the right to refuse treatment doesn't exist at all, and as soon as I got the chance I scratched it out on the plauque.

The hot nurse quickly joins in the gang fest and holds down my completely still ankle. She wants me. My deep blue x ray eyes. Chiseled cheek bones. Burley scruff. Plus I've been deemed dangerous to society and she secretly wants me to reek the same potential havoc on her pussy. They're all in a panic, to get me strapped down and inject me with their crap.

The restraints are made of leather or some type of nylon. One flaps across my forehead, cause I guess they’re worried people will bite them. I can't help but wonder. Wondering how many psychiatric personnel were lavishly bitten in someone's fit of rage. Did anyone lose an ear like some kind of Mike Tyson bout? A chunk of their cheek perhaps? Right on their face. A finger? Or a bloody piece off their hand or arm. Maybe even a hunk of their elbow I think as it tightens up and my head gets buckled in. Probably all of the above. But biting. It’s not really my style. I'm more of the type to under estimate you with my size and knock you out one after the other sending you off into the galactic emptiness of your consciousness, everything turns black and then twinkles in your eyes as reality turns back on leaving you wondering in a daze what the fuck just happened. Darren Bouchard just happened. Maybe I shouldn't fuck with him.

I’ve always been the toughest guy I know. It doesn't come easy and many are looking for the bragging rights to have punched me out. But I didn't introduce them to that side of myself. I never start a fight. It starts me. Or some asshole is picking on someone who isn't tough and I do the Good Samaritan thing and defend them. That's the type of person I am, but if you ever cross me or fuck with my sense of etiquette watch out because I’ll fight you. I was nice and completely polite and cosher to them until they lied during my review board who proceeded to deem me a threat to the public safety and to be incarcerated against my will for at least another year when we would meet again. This over being charged for a couple of harassing emails I'll fill you in on. After that, it was no more mr. Nice guy. I introduced the belligerent asshole side of me. I was being a dick collectively to them for roughly two months. Never once did I threaten anybody or act aggressively. I was just a dick who wouldn't take their pills. How did I get here pinned to a bed with my head buckled in. In short, that fucking god dame cookie wrapper on the floor I wouldn't pick up for a week. My room was completely spotless minus the wrapper. After a week they bring in tough guy Mark. He’s fifty something with a crew cut. I was trying to make the best of my time in there by trying to write a novel and was sitting up with my back against the wall and a journal in my lap. They took this attempt of perseverance as a symptom of mental illness. Always writing in my dammed journal. Plus before my review board I was anxious and pacing up and down the hall and heard through the glass one of the nurses say, “Oh ya, schizophrenics pace.” I'm not sure where he got his expertise but more people pace that don't have schizophrenia then do. Anyway, that dammed cookie wrapper. They brought big bad mark down from the more dangerous less comfortable unit called forensics. One of the nurses was stationed in a chair outside my room, going over her rape fantasy inside her head till the point she's wet, when he comes blaring in my room shrugging his shoulder. “Alright, Bouchard, you think your tough, lets go me and you right now.” I looked up at him and laughed. The old man would have taken one punch, two if he was half as tough as he talked.

“Piss off, I'm writing.” I say not looking up, raising and waving my pen, returning to my page. “No, we’re gonna solve something here. I wanna see how tough you are.” He says.

I look up to him from my journal and say, “I got nothing nothing to prove to you,” and look back down to my journal. “Plus how do you think it’s going to go down for me if I get up and knock your old ass out?”

“Knock me out, hah, your always acting so tough. Come on let's see what you got.” He says pumping his fists.

“Your the one acting all tough and shit. I'm writing.”

“Well your gonna clean up that cookie wrapper,” he says pointing in its direction on the floor. “I'm not cleaning up shit, Mark. It’s not even mine.”

The conversation proceeded to him threatening me more and me being stubborn and ignoring him. Then he has the gaul to rip the pen out of my hand, then the journal and puts me in a headlock and rips me out of bed. I didn't resist though I could have easily gotten out of it and knocked his lights out, instead I'm all like “What the fuck. I’m being assaulted,” to the nurse. “Are you seeing this shit. What the fuck!” He ripped me right out of bed. I go completely limp and let him drag my dead weight into the hall, my feet dangling. I wasn't about to take on the military and just let him keep Dragging me across the floor. I'm the hall from behind the glass the other personnel can see the confrontation. Me, once kind and polite Darren Bouchard hanging limp in a choke hold. Feet dangling along the ground. Suddenly the alarm blares. A voice over the intercom calls, “Attention, code white, section A one. Attention, code white, section A1.

Another restraint tightens around my waist. And one across my chest. One hooped for each wrist. One across my quads and one hooped around each ankle. Still not resisting. Just pleading to Richard. “I didn’t do anything....” He doesn't give a shit. All I smell is the pungent mixture of ass and aphrodisiac. I'm special. The nurse to the right of me is humming the lion king song Akunna Matta in her head and the one to the left who was sat outside my door has finally put her rape fantasy on hold.

Richard. He smells like shit. I called him a fag under my breath a few weeks earlier, I said, “Fuckin fag,” just to get under his skin, I didn't care if he was, to each their own but I could tell from his body language he heard me. He sort of stopped in the corridor and turned his head slightly towards me before continuing on his way to his office with all his diplomas on his wall. He held a grudge that day forward and revoked my laser comb from me. Something that turned out to be very important in this storey. It took me two months to finally get my x roommate Trist Tarter to send it up to me and I had been using it for ten years to combat baldness quite successfully. When you stop using this device, or any hair loss treatments fall out increases exponentially and in a short while catches up as if you never used it. The guy was a dick about it, looking to take away any perceived privilege he could. The thing has a cord, which were banned on the unit for fear someone might use it to kill themselves. The guy obviously was playing a dick because why would I want to keep my hair to kill myself. I was using it under supervision one morning and heard him say, “I don't want him using dat,” in his French accent. I explained how it works and that the balding catches up as if you never used it. He didn't give a shit. He was bald himself. Then over the proceeding months I could see him glancing up at my hair smiling at the fall out. There was no wiggle room with Richard. I already called him a fag.

He pulls out a needle and injects it into my leg. It barely stings. I feel violated. Then they all leave the room with me wondering how the fuck did I get here, strapped down on a hospital bed. Injected with the drugs I had the right to refuse.

So, how the hell did I get here? It isn’t an easy question to answer. I can think of it all in seconds, but to explain it there’s so many facets It would definitely take a novel. This novel. One that involves murder, conspiracies, big and small, scandal, not to mention the anti christ, trials and tribulations, with various dietys, aliens, cyborgs, dark beings from alternate dimensions and schizophrenia in the twenty first century.