America the Poor: A Wanderers Tale, Vol Two

Chapter 16:The Return of the Drugs, and meeting my sad Brothers

To that point I had shown I was perfectly capable of mental and emotional control, yet it didn't really matter did it? That wasn't the real point of my being there was it? It didn't truly matter if I was rational, sane, or intelligent, they didn't really care, they weren't PAID to care, and that was the tragedy wasn't it?

Our sanity as boys wasn't in question, we were there, that's all that mattered in reality, for all intents and purposes. We were there, in that place, that was quite enough for the staff, the personal paid enforcers of the official state, nothing else mattered, they had checks to earn correct?

My control and official commitment didn't fit their final agenda did it? Ultimately nothing I did mattered really. Whether I was sane or insane, they didn't care for the truth. They were determined to drug me, as amazing and intelligent as I was.

They could have studied my mind, benignly, as it was, yet they didn't. Someone higher up made a very conscious and dumb choice. They had a young mind, intelligent beyond any other in their temporary grasp, but they consciously chose to confine me, with mind altering drugs and so-called "treatment", though they didn't even know exactly what they had in their control.

I was never more than a simple guinea pig to the system, among many such other sad and tragic boys, to the staff, and by extension, the state of NY. The 'State" was a powerful entity, then and even now.

Being in this place, I was nothing more than a sad and tragic small minor experiment to them, and never would be more than this, not to them officially.

The State doesn't really see individuals, and it never truly did, by its design, for entire centuries.

We are numbers, and simple statistics, nothing more, and have been so for a very long time. Most Americans seem to accept this, by the mechanism of never actually thinking about this simple fact, what's ignored doesn't really exist right?

However I didn't accept any of this , and never truly would.Never would I accept being reduced to a damned heartless number.

I believe in the Power of the individual, maybe I'm the LAST of my kind, and I believe a single being can change the entire world, although admittedly it's a very rare occurrence. But it has been known to happen throughout history.

They eagerly started my drug regimen again, and by this time, I knew from personal experience that resistance was truly futile. Whether I wanted it or not, I would endure their pharmaceutical amateur experiments, since that's what they really were.

I wasn't happy about it, doubly so since I had actually demonstrated a real ability to control myself, but it was funny that I thought that was a part of their final calculation, it never was, and I should have realized this.

They never gave a crap about my control, or my sanity, it was never about any of that, not since my very first day in this weird place. This was never a real consideration for the State, and by extension, the doctors and staff in charge. I was doomed from my very first day, regardless of my behavior, my choices had zero real influence, nothing mattered to them, though they recorded literally everything.

I, and by extension any of us boys could have been 100 percent sane and and provably rational, and it would have made zero difference in how we were really treated. If we started rational, the system was designed to make us seem completely irrational, by its very design.

It was all on purpose I believe now, all by design, we were never meant to be sane, being in that place, they had budgets to justify, we were statistics, nothing more.

Since resistance was futile I took their pills again, not by choice. It was either orally or through a very undignified and painful method, so I chose orally.

Time passed,, and I slowly started talking to the other boys, many were crazy as hell, but some were not really crazy until they were here, in this strange and sad place. As time went on, my brain started getting foggy. Thoughts came much slower than they had before, even though I fought this effect.

I learned the stories of other boys, bit by bit. I never directly talked to Matthew L, but I heard parts of his sad story from others.

He was completely deformed, without a measured IQ, quite retarded and utterly insane by any standard in the world. One arm was far larger than another, with a large deformed head, one eye twice the size of the other, and one leg was also larger than another. He had spent his entire sad life locked up, his mother was also insane, from the stories I'd heard, he was born in institutions, and had never seen freedom personally.

I saw him many times, running through the white halls screaming nonsense loudly, one arm waving wildly in the air , utterly friggen insane. The staff gave him some leeway, more than the rest of us received.

He didn't seem to comprehend anything, including rules and limitations, and Matthew would never leave this place, all his life. Such a tragic being, funny to watch, yet sad, and doomed for all time.

The very definition of a human tragedy. Even back then, at 13 years old, I pitied him, and more so now, knowing he is still there, for all time.

During my second week there, I was heading to the TV room, and witnessed Matthew L running past me, humped back, no shirt, and one arm waving in the air, and he was yelling "Scoliosissss" to everyone, , a very strange and unforgettable experience to witness, no doubt.

Even back then, I knew he would never leave institutional life, that would be his entire existence, for his entire lifetime. I never witnessed him play a single game, or read a book, or do a single activity that involved a brain cell. Yes, he could talk, but like a parrot, repeating words he didn't comprehend.

It horrifies me even now thinking about Matthew L existing in some institution like some forgotten horrible demented secret of the world all these years later. I cannot picture a worse and sadder fate for any being, but rest assured, twisted Matthew L is still in some institution running down a hallway in madness , trapped forever, with only me to tell his sad tale to the world, as I am now. He is one of the forgotten ones.

As I behaved, I oh so slowly rose through the levels, for now of course. One day I got high enough to finally have the privilege of being in my room often, not constantly, but often. That was a special day, since I got to talk to my roommate in privacy and finally got him to tell me his sad and stra