Robbie

She's The One

How in the world did I end up here?

Stupid question really, Jason and Meghan Roberts are the two main reasons that I have been sectioned. I am looking at one entire year of my life being wasted stuck in this fucking hellhole. It could have been a lot worse I suppose, I avoided a jail sentence by the skin of my teeth and pleaded diminished responsibility for my actions. I brought up my "traumatic" childhood, the abuse I suffered at the hands of my grandfather, the neglect from my parents which ultimately landed me into the care system where I was passed around from one foster home to another. The jury, the judge and even my lawyer were convinced by my heartfelt admissions, it was the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I swore on a Bible for fuck's sake, I wouldn't lie, or would I? Who knows right?

After the case with Justine, the whore who I tried it on with a couple of months back, my face ended up splattered on the front page of The New York Times. The cops were all over my arse, Jason and Meghan reported me, and I was dragged into the police station and questioned over my actions from the last year. Guilty, seriously? Of what, falling in love? Sending some flowers and accidentally bumping into someone I had a one-night stand with? Even though we both lived in the same district, we were always bound to cross each other's paths. Yes, I did tamper with her med's but only because she didn't need them anymore. I should know, I've worked in a research medical lab for over four years, so I think I am qualified enough to make a judgment on whether someone should be dosing themselves up on multiple medications or not. After her fiancé, it makes me sick to the pit of my stomach just thinking about it, but after he was arrested, I decided to take action and convince her to come away with me. She wasn't happy in her relationship, if she was then would she of been seeking help from a counsellor? Would she of had an abortion, no?! She did all of those things because she was scared of him. All I tried to do was protect her, and yet I'm the one who gets accused of stalking, harassment, and kidnapping. That fuckwit bugged her apartment with cameras. He even went as far to film and take pictures of her in the shower. He was a loner, a mommy's boy before he met Meghan and not to mention a psychopath, going to see her perform in a play twelve times. For me he is the one who needs to be sectioned, I don't know what he has that I haven't got. All I know is that he is not better than me, he is nothing!

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Staring at four white clinical walls day in and day out is not something I would wish for anyone. Scraping up rat shit every day was far more exciting than living this dismissal version of a life. I am subjected to five hour cognitive behavioural therapy counselling sessions every week and they're trying to dose me up on some antipsychotic medication called Caplyta. We are allowed monitored access to IT equipment and as soon as I found out that those drugs were to treat Schizophrenia I let rip. The doctors had to restrain and sedate me; I was kept in total isolation for over a week. That was a lot of fun, not! After they refused to listen to my point of view, I decided to go on a full on hunger strike, not that I was eating well before this. Have you ever tasted the food in a psychiatric ward? It's shit, you wouldn't feed that kinda garbage to your dog, let alone a human being. Once the doctors realised that I wasn't going to budge, they had me sent to the hospital ward, and I was put on a drip. Needless to say, it was the best thing that has ever happened to me, because that was when I met her.

Here I am in a creepy room which can only be described like the ward in John Carpenters Halloween 2, the one where Jamie Lee Curtis gets stalked by Michael Myers for the second time on Halloween night. This one particular afternoon there was a major thunderstorm outside. The branches of the trees were slamming against the window next to my bed, and the wind was blowing in through the cracks in the glass. I was out of my mind with boredom. How long would I have to stay here before they let me back in the psych unit? This wasn't part of my plan, the plan was to lie low and obey everything those doctors were telling me to do in order to feign rehabilitation and to get myself back into civilisation. However, I wasn't prepared for them to pump me up with Schizo meds and for me to go into some kind of catatonic state of a delusional reality. I worked in a research medical lab; I know my shit and I've seen some real fucked up things in my time; I wasn't going to become one of their statics or guinea pigs, I'm better than that.