Why Were You Screaming Last Night (standard:Psychological fiction, 2343 words)
Author: Anonymous	Added: Jul 29 2010	Views/Reads: 3941/2400	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Delving into the mind of a manic depressive at his worst.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

then it was Star Wars, then it was Harry Potter, then it was Fight 
Club, and it's all me. All of it. 

I knew for years that the government was becoming too oppressive, but it
wasn't until the last few days that I really began to see just how much 
in danger we were. Without the overall power to start up a movement 
with greater political power then in the 60's, We were a national 
security threat, and the hints have been dropped so that in some way we 
could carry out the mission, and in essence gain the happiness we so 
desired. 

Let me explain myself: My name is Michael Callaghan. Things are going so
fast that it's impossible to write everything down. I feel so tired, 
but something is compelling me to write. As far as I can tell, I'm at 
some kind of school. This has to be a school for gifted children. 
Immediately as I walked into my room, there were books all around. 
Books I had known since my childhood. I saw Harry Potter and the 
Hobbit. It was very nostalgic. Was that their intention? I don't know. 

All I know is that I am obviously being tested in someway. Whatever way
it is, I'm not sure yet. I can't second guess myself; can't analyze my 
actions. If I do so, then something bad will happen. I'm just not sure 
what it is yet. 

I just walked into the doctor's office. I forget everything he said
except he asked if I smoked marijuana. I couldn't exactly remember, 
only I know I did it whenever I could, so I told him that. He put me 
down as one joint per day type of guy, even though I mostly smoked 
blunts. 

My mom came with my sister the other day. I don't really remember much
of what we talked about, only I was always trying to analyze what was 
going on and what I was doing here. I thought my sister might've been 
my wife. Now I'm not sure. I remember someone named Frank. We got into 
a fight. Was that why I was here? I cut him somehow, but someone told 
me I came out of it with bruises all over my forehead. I don't remember 
it hurting. 

So this is Queens . A nice cage; a nice sun; plenty of young black men
and women who are actually as crazy as everyone thinks they all are. 
Two of the younger black kids are tossing around a football, a couple 
of them are playing cards, some are talking to the guardians; I am 
writing, because that's what I do. I write. 

It's not as if I can stop what I'm doing; too many things flow through
me. I keep on forgetting what I'm thinking, and I'm writing everywhere. 
My J.R.R. Tolkien book is full of notes all of the pages and inside 
cover. As I look over my notes, I feel more confused then I was before. 


I wanted to see Transformers but nobody else wanted to so we watched
Little Man instead. I feel like a racist for calling it a black comedy 
but that's what it is. I just didn't get it. 

During our community meeting, we talked about how my girlfriend had been
writing mean things about everything in her notebook. She apologized, 
but I knew she was a liar. I don't care if I was her girlfriend, though 
how it ended up that way, I don't know. I hate her. 

I requested a promotion but it was denied on the basis that I didn't
have the proper paperwork. Apparently, it works like a points system, 
in that you have to get the nurses to assign points according to how 
well you behaved. All I had to do was ask, so I resigned myself to make 
a commitment to do that. 

Mom and Dad come to see me together, and it's weird because it's been
years since I've seen them together where they are not fighting. Such a 
nice happy thing though. They even brought me diet Pepsi. They seem 
very happy for me. So am I. 

I knew this feeling couldn't last. I want to get out of here. This place
is fucking bullshit. They won't let me leave, and they are torturing 
me. They locked me in a room because I wasn't quiet and I banged on the 
door but they wouldn't let me out. I saw somebody get strapped up in a 
straitjacket just like in the movie. I beg my mom to let me go but she 
can't do it. I feel sick now. I want to die. 

I just woke up, I had to wait in my room, I got outside, I went to the
cafeteria, I ate, I got the nurse to sign my points, then I left. I met 
up with one of the students, at least he looks like a student. He 
wouldn't tell me very much, but he was apparently very normal. I had 
wanted to play chess for days since I got here, I don't know why, I 
think to test my own intelligence, but our game is interrupted and we 
are herded into the gym. 

I see my hated enemy, Jamaican nurse #4. He's like, “Fight Club, Fight
Club,” and does a kung fu stance. I watch him, my mouth open, 
astonished that somebody could be so insulting. After all, not only is 
Fight Club very important but I did not want these moments to be 
tampered with. So I chose to take insult to it, and bring it up at the 
next community meeting. A lot of the residents chose to back me up. 
They're good people; Harry Potter's offspring; the orphans who are only 
half-crazy and want to get out too. They've been here for months, and 
people wonder why they behave with such dissidence. I guess I probably 
would've done the same to, if this mental hospital became a way of life 
for me. 

I met a very special girl today. Her name was Brianna. I liked her
immediately because of the way she dressed, and the way she talked. She 
was a true punk rocker. We talked about a lot of bands like Rancid, 
specifically the song “Burn”. She said that she set things on fire to 
that song, and I could certainly see it and would've loved to have 
joined her; such a sweet, sweet smell. 

We spend much of our time talking together. Even right now, she is
sitting next to me. She asked me what I was writing, I said a memoir, 
and she told me that was really cool. I liked that. It was difficult to 
talk to her sometimes because she was apt to stare at the walls and 
ceilings for no apparent reason from time to time. So I'd have to try 
and say something to her, and she would apologize and say she was just 
spacing out for some reason. 

I blame the medication; all that chemical goodness meant to balance us
out into good productive citizens? What was the point? They destroyed 
our happiness; or tried to. I'd rather be crazy and happy, but with 
other crazy people like these. 

Our conversation went something like this today: 

-Who here would you like to go out with? she asked 

My heart did a double beat. A very pleasant and familiar one though. 

-You, I admitted, Why? 

She shrugs and said, I like you too. 

-Why? 

-I dunno, because you're different? 

Later on, I gave her my home phone underneath the table. We have to be
sneaky, because the guardians do not appreciate anything remotely 
sexual going on. 

-That's awkward she said, smiling. 

That's the last time I ever saw her. 

The next day, I'm told that I was being discharged. I had gotten a lot
of points for good behavior and I was now allowed to eat in the private 
room, listen to my CD's (I played the Dropkick Murphy's Do or Die), and 
even play the Playstation 2. The social worker told me I had done well, 
and that I was going to be put in a nice transistional stage where I 
went to another hospital but this time only for partial. That hospital 
was a lot more fun, I assure you. 

I told one of the nurses that I was going to publish this as a memoir
when I got out of there. She told me that she'd have to see about the 
royalties. 

Now that I've finished delving into my past, I'll update you on the
present. I never spoke to Brianna again, which is a god damn shame. 
I've never had to go to the hospital for psychosis again, they've taken 
me off almost all of that sedative medicine but I still have to take 
lithium, and I currently feel quite happy. I'm not exactly clean and 
sober, but I don't care to be sober for the rest of my life anyways; as 
my friend once told me, “Smoke weed and fuck bitches; every day.” Words 
to live by. There is nothing else to it. I think I'll just end it here. 



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