America the Poor: A Wanderers Tale, Vol Two

Chapter 37: The RIGHT Numbers, and Mind over Meds

That next day, after breakfast, I returned to my associate Jeff. He was amazing, since he had kept the faith the whole time, and kept applying what I had taught him long before. He didn't forget a single thing, and had been steadily doing all the specific experiments in numbered randomness since I was gone. When I was visiting the life that seemed so damned far away to me, and to the rest of us lost boys as well. Emotions can change a seeming reality, reality which has always been precarious at best.

We were living in a state sanctioned official Hell, and we were meant to fully feel the effects of our incarceration, and I certainly did.

We weren't meant to ever feel joy, laughter, or feel loved. Positive emotions and feelings weren't what the state truly wanted. This wasn't a part of the master plan, and in this way, the state was quite successful, we were perpetually miserable, from our first check in date until our final release, assuming we had this at all. Misery and mediocrity was our eternal domain while in that tragic place, hope was something we were meant to finally give up. Only then was progress being officially made, as far as the state was concerned.

The sadder and less energetic we were, the saner we ultimately were considered. That was the whole point of our incarceration, to destroy hope and happiness. To obliterate joy, and who we truly were, and they were damned good at their respective jobs. The saddest and hopeless left that place finally, when the work was done, except for a few beings like Matthew L, he would be there forever.

New York State and its various minions had been doing these things for a very long time, decades really, and nothing would really ever truly change, not for us, the victims.

We'd never really change their policies, and they'd never change us, not permanently. They didnt know how to do this, not in the long term, beyond an unwelcome lobotomy of course.

Either I'd publicly change myself to their observations, or I'd never leave that sad place of torment, and possibly remain there for my entire lifetime. The experiments Jeff and I were working on weren't a dangerous thing, but they certainly seemed contrary to what the state was trying to do to us.

We were empowering ourselves, if we could, our minds, and they wanted us constrained instead. Luckily, personal activities were not taken into account in our weekly evaluations, only behaviors, whether violent, peaceful, or even non-existent.

These strange experiments gave us something the state never could, a weird hope. In our efforts we were attempting something amazing, and considered physically impossible, and beyond the normal human experience.

Our tightly-held belief was that will and mind are both powerful forces in shaping reality, in the small ways, and also the larger ones as well. Insane? Certainly! Impossible? Nope, since nothing is truly impossible, just degrees of likelihood, nothing else, this is what I wanted to show ultimately. To my knowledge, this had never been attempted in an American mental facility before, certainly not by the patients, and was the first experiment of its ilk, and probably the very last.

I wondered what medications my partner Jeff was really on, since he seemed to have a very strong mind, and was perfect for my disciple right then. I never saw him with the elvis shakes, the chair rocking, or average zombielike behavior. Nothing seemed to really affect him, his energy and enthusiasm seemed always undiminished somehow, for the whole time I knew him.

The things that really affected me with the medications, besides the shaking and drooling, seemingly mainly affected my mental speed, not my capacity or intelligence, and my processing speed became quite slow, and could also have been far worse certainly. At least I never rocked drooling in the tv room. Not even once. Why? Because I decided never to become that, and my young will was indomitable, and always would be.