Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-32310520-20170617063741

Patient report:

The patient's vital signs have remained stable since being placed in a medically induced coma. The drugs seem to be helping his immune system fight off the infection however EEG is picking up abnormal brain activity. Upon further examination the pupils seem to be erratically behaving seemingly in line with REM sleep. He seems to be aware of his surroundings, reaching out to visitors. He also seems to be crying out for someone around midnight. A woman it would seem someone named "Amber". He cries out to her saying he loves her and he's sorry but sorry for what is unknown. Recommended to keep under close obsevation and see how he progresses. Also, ask any of his family that visits him "if he knows a woman named Amber and what his relationship is to her."

I woke up in a white room with padding on the walls and no windows. Disoriented I try to reach up and rub my eyes only to find I can't move my arms. I blink a few times and as reality came into focus I realized why i couldn't move my arms. My arms were crossed bound to my chest. I figured out pretty quickly somehow I'd ended up in a straight jacket. I also noticed my normal black tennis shoes were gone and I was barefoot. Also my black cargo pants I last remember wearing were replaced with torn and frayed white slacks. "Well shit", I think to myself resting my head against the wall behind me, "I guess I really fucked up this time" Several thoughts start racing through my mind. Where am I? How did I get here? What happened? Most importantly why am I in a straightjacket and a padded room?

I struggle to my feet and start trying to work my way out of the jacket. I don't know who or what brought me here but I'll be damned if I sit around and find out. I fight and struggle to get my arms free trying to get some slack. Finally after about 2 minutes of struggling I start feeling my arms start to move. Already starting to tire from the struggle I look around the room for something, anything to help me out of my current situation. I walk over to the rusty iron door and see a nail sticking out of the wall next to it. "Its not much but it's worth a shot" I say to myself taking a deep breath. I lean forward piercing the nail through my sleeves being careful not to let the rusted metal cut my skin. I tear the sleeves of the straight jacket and free my arms. I step back and using my now free arms start working the jacket over my head. After about 30 seconds of struggling I finally get the jacket off. "Well that's step one towards freedom I guess." "There is no true freedom from this place." I hear a raspy voice say as the rusty iron door swings open. Standing in the doorway is a dark figure about my height and build. About 6 foot tall close to maybe 300 pounds. Dressed in torn and stained scrubs and a white lab coat. In place of its face was a theater mask not unlike those used by anonymous. A cold burst of air filled the room as the figure entered. I step back putting space between me and the figure. The figure reached into it's coat pocket and pulled out a syringe. "Please don't start resisting." The figure said walking towards me, "Its time for your therapy." I step back till my back is touching the wall. "Come now Zane struggling won't help." "HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!" I demand my voice shaking. The figure just stood there glaring at me from behind the mask. I charge forward trying to charge past it. The figure side steps me and sticks it's foot out sending me falling face first to the concrete floor. Instantly my eyes water and blood runs out my nose. Before I have a chance to get up I feel the sting of the syringe plunging into my shoulder. My vision further blurred then faded to black as I lost consciousness. I woke up strapped in a chair unable to move. "Ahh you're awake," a familiar raspy voice said, "Now we can begin your treatment." A bright light kicks on and I see a TV in front of me. I force my eyes shut shielding them from the light. Suddenly a cold hand forces my left eye open and uses a metal device to pry my eyelids apart. I thrash trying to get free as the same cold hand repeats the process with my right eye. Then the TV kicked on in a hiss of static followed by a series of images. Images of things that mean something to me. Pictures of my friends Cody, Josh, Shawn, Thad, Britney, Krystal and Brooklyn. Short bursts of music videos from my favorite songs and artists. Stillframe images from some of my favorite wrestling matches. Pictures of my family, my cousins Sam, Dave and Tyler, My Grandma, my cat ginger and my sisters Rose and Kim. Then came the image of my idea for my first tattoo. A broken heart bleeding, and chained up with barbed wire and a padlock. The images that came next brough tears to my eyes. My past heartbreaks and things I wish I could have done differently. My former friend Marilyn who I lost to drugs. My father who I wish I could have known better. My exes Emily and Courtney  which I wish I never got involved with in the first place. A friend I once knew and called a brother but since has come to disgust me because he's become so corrupted by sex. A beautiful Goddess who strung me along and played my heartstrings to her own vile melody. My grandpa in hindsight I really wish I would have been by his side when he passed away so at least he could have spent his last moments on earth with his only grandson. My old notebooks and my laptop from high school and the first year or two after, whatever happened to my dreams? I was going to be a writer I had the potential why did I give up on it? My friend Amber. All the things I left unsaid cuz I feared rejection or loosing one of my best friends its kept me up late at nights sometimes crying, sometimes trying to drink the pain, almost always pissed at myself for being such a bitch. The school of smothers building, another dream I never followed for reasons I can't wrap my head around. Ever since i was a little kid I wanted to be a pro wrestler. Lately I've had no excuse to not give it a shot. There was a school close by that didn't charge my soul and my first born child for tuition and the trainer there was a certified legend in the business. Yet another reason to kick myself. Then a picture of my mom flashed on the screen and I lost all control. I thrashed until the chair fell on its side. A figure emerged from the shadows. It was the same masked figure from the padded room. It approached me and removed the device from my eyes. I force them shut and start sobbing uncontrollably. "Why?" I asked, "Why are you doing this? Why me?". Instead of an answer i feel the pinch of another syringe piercing my flesh and once again I black out.

I awaken this time on a metal operating table and see the figure looming over me with an ice pick. "Unfortunately due to your violent reactions to our treatment we have no other choice than a frontal lobotomy." The figure said sounding disappointed. It lowers the ice pick toward my left eye and says, "Hold still I promise this will be painless." I grip the cold metal table with my right hand then realize I'm not restrained now. I reach out with both hands and grab the ice pick's handle forcing it back away from my face. The figure growls at me "STOP STRUGGLING DAMMIT!" Defiantly I twist and kick the figure in the side sending the ice pick flying. I roll off the table and scramble to my feet charging at the figure who's now clutching at its side. I put my head down and ram my shoulder into the figure's ribs tackling it into a cabinet causing various medical supplies to fall to the floor. While I have the figure pinned to the cabinet i start digging into its lab coat pockets. I feel something round and glass and grab it. At this point the figure knees me right in the sternum. It wraps its arm around my neck and spins throwing me to the floor. I look to my hand and see I did grab a syringe after all. I scramble to my feet as the figure bears down on me. "Fine then" it growls, "You want to do this the hard way? We'll fucking do this the hard way!" I bite the cap off the syringe and spit it across the room. I step towards the figure ready for a fight. This time it rushes me and I sidestep stabbing the figure in the arm with the syringe. It staggers towards the table and I push in the plunger before the figure can fight back. Soon the figure goes limp and collapses face down unconscious on the table. I struggle to roll the mass of dead weight over so I can get at its mask. I was hell bent on finding out who my tormentor was. I tear at the mask and what I saw shocked me. It was me, my own face stared back at me my brown eyes wide open fixated on the ceiling. The difference was this me was a pale white, and where as I had a bit of a beard and medium length hair, this me was clean shaven and had a buzzcut. "What...what the hell?!" I asked stumbling back towards the door. I clambered to my feet and took off down the dark decrepit hallway like a bat out of hell still clutching the theater mask.

I couldn't wrap my head around what I just saw or any of what's going on here in the first place so I just ran as fast as I could down the hallway broken glass on the floor cutting my bare feet. I turned a corner flying blind with no sense of direction, I just wanted out of this hell. The walls blurred past me as I ran I could have sworn I saw faces in the peeling paint. After running down a seemingly endless hallway for what felt like hours I finally reached a room with what looked like a reception desk. I leaned over the desk and emptied the contents of my stomach half from running, half from the fucked up situation as a whole. I stop to catch my breath when I hear piano music playing. It sounded so familiar. I slowly walk in the direction the sound is coming from. Then i start hearing singing in a familiar raspy choked voice. "I've never been the kind to ever let my feelings show. And I thought that being strong meant never losin' your self-control. But I'm just drunk enough, to let go of my pain. To hell with my pride. Let it fall like rain from my eyes. Tonight I wanna cry." I felt tears well up in my eyes, "Tonight I Wanna Cry" by Keith Urban was one of my go to sad songs when I didn't want to feel alone when I was in a bout of depression. I saw the piano in an empty room a few feet down the hall from the desk. The figure...me whatever it was that I left on the operating table, was sitting at the bench now as the souce of the singing now minus it's mask and lab coat. "Who are you?" I asked wiping tears from my eyes. The figure looked up at me and said in a choked voice. "I'm exactly what I look like, I'm you." I felt my heart sink as I backed out of the room. I heard the bench move and I prepared to start running again. "I told you once already there is no escape." I bolt down the hallway until I reach a large set of wooden doors. Still at a dead run I brace myself and jump at the doors putting all my momentum behind me forcing them open crashing to the ground and rolling down the concrete staircase held behind them.

I came too a couple minutes later a warm breeze on my face. I sit up and realize that I'm outside. I stand up and start walking down the trail towards the city bloody footprints following behind me. Suddenly all the memories rush back to me and i realized what the figure meant by there is no escape. This is the third time I've gotten out this week but when the sun goes down tonight and the clock strikes midnight I'll fall asleep and wake up right back in that asylum with no memory of the days prior. I'm trapped in a loop. A prisoner of my own hell. Constantly tormented by this doctor or entity or this darker version of myself. I just pray one day I'll wake up and it'll all end. Please if anyone can read this, find me help me. I don't know how much longer I can stand this hell. 