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Twisting all the bad things into good

Mar 16, 2012

CHAPTER 16: THE PATRON SAINT OF . . . WHATEVER. Stroke of Genius (Part 1)

The quality which makes man want to write and be read is essentially a desire for self-exposure and masochism. Like one of those guys who has a compulsion to take his thing out and show it on the street.
James Jones
        


SATURDAY. 9/11/10

            There was no way to know what time it was.
            I couldn't stop tossing and turning.
            It's always been hard for me to fall asleep on my back. I would usually end up ruminating until I turned over and buried my face in my pillow. It's not the best way to keep a healthy complexion, but even to someone as vain as myself, I'll take an occasional blemish over insomnia. It's nothing that a nice Pomegranate purifying clay mask can't take care of, I mean, if you're a woman. Whether you're a woman, a gay dude, or a straight guy who can admit he's completely secura shopping at Sephora, as far as I know, even the biggest zit in the history of Homecomings has not resulted in an involuntary stay in a mental health facility.

            I couldn't even sleep on my stomach on this Saturday morning.
            After enough time had passed, it became clear that it was the medication that was keeping me up. The term "prolonged erection" was an understatement. "Throbbing hard on" would be more appropriate. Wow. Ridiculous. Painful. When the nurse and her silent partner introduced me to the term, I was secretly hoping the "prolonged" part was in regards to length of size, not time. When I worked in the porn industry, I stayed behind the camera (mostly for moral reasons, of course).
            I'm guessing this is what Viagra feels like.
            Even when I had unlimited access to them, I never tried those little blue pills. Obviously, I'm referring to the Viagra, not the the little blue pills I took ten times a day that ruined my life. Way back in those days, when I used to have a girlfriend, a sex drive, and a life, I asked my ex-girlfriend if I should grab a few and give it a try. Due to my "prolonged" stamina and her petite little package, she responded, "Please don't."
            Just thought I'd throw that in there, because it is vital to the overall story.

              
            On this particular morning, I did not wake up from a dream about sex or cheesecake, so I knew my boner was not a result of any sort of arousal. Besides, I was not going to indulge in a wake and shake in the shower of some mental facility. That in itself might justify my being here.
            The other cause of morning wood, besides Trazodone, is due to urine building up in the bladder during sleep, putting pressure on the prostate and ...basically, so we don't just piss all over ourselves or the person passed out next to us.
            Back when I used to sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time, I always tried to avoid getting out of bed to take a leak, because then I can never fall back to sleep after. It would have been easier to fall asleep on an eightball than on this monster, so I figured taking a whizz couldn't hurt, not as much as my urethra did.
            This is not as simple as it seems.
            Even if I had the strength or balance necessary to do a handstand, there was no way in hell I was planting my palms on a filthy bathroom floor. Being a righty, I put my left hand on the wall behind the toilet, and leaned forward as far as possible until my body made a 90 degree angle. The vertex being my waist.
             About four seconds after I let loose, I finally hit the water.

             About forty minutes after I wiped my piss from the toilet seat and bathroom floor, the tech came in, and in a much less dickish fashion than the Haitian the previous morning, let us know it was time to get up. I was already there.
             There was no choice but to take this thing into the rec room with me. I don't wear my clothes 3 sizes too big like some fucking wigger. Due to my lack of  any hippity hoppity fashion sense, my appropriately sized large t-shirt was only going to go so far in covering this. I've been worried about by junk slipping through the bottom of my Daisys, not popping out the top. It's not like it was some rash that I could go around showing to people and asking, "Hey, check this out. Does this look normal to you?" It was a fiasco enough when I walked into the rec room without a shirt on the morning before. Maybe I should just walk out there in my boxers, if nothing else but to have a funny story to tell at parties.
            No. That's stupid. Nobody wants to hear some inappropriate and unnecessary anecdote about my junk. I would need to get some new material if it ever came to that.

            It' s come to this. There's this thing I used to do when I was a tween in tighty whiteys. I don't know if other guys did this, because I would never discuss such personal things with others.
            Because I'm smart, and because I was lucky enough to be wearing boxer briefs when the police came to institutionalize me, I may actually get through this ordeal without anyone ever knowing about it. I used the elastic waist band to hold myself against myself.
            When I walked into the rec room, I acted like everything was cool. Everything was not cool. It was feverish. I could feel it burning against that part of my belly where a woman's fupa would be.

            Besides having the polar opposite of erectile disfunction, it was the usual routine this morning.
            Meds. Vitals. Breakfast.

            At breakfast, Sparky noticed I wasn't being as talkative as usual.
           "James, you feeling alright?"
           "I just didn't sleep very well last night."
           "You think it was from the meds?, Sparky asks.
           "Probably."
            Definitely.
           "You should tell them to take it down."
           "Yeah. I was thinking the same thing."
           "Any other side effects?"
           "Nothing that I've noticed".

            Ken asks,"What are they giving you, Seroquel?"
           "No, they give me Lexapro in the morning, and before bed they give me, it's like Trazadol and Risteral?"
           "Trazadone and Risperdal," Ken says.
            Sparky says, "Ken, you really know your meds."
           "That's because I've been on all of them."

            It's funny how openly we all discuss our meds and how much easier it is for some to discuss their drug or mental problems outside of group therapy. What's not funny is that I'm talking to a couple dudes while I have a "prolonged direction" under the table.

            Monica asks me, "Are you bipolar, James?"
           "No, I'm just moody. Why?"
           "Because of the medication you're on."
           "Well, I'm not sure what does what, but they gave an antipsychotic because of the hallucinations the first night. Then they put me on antidepressant to help with the depression that follows coming off opiates."
           "You should be careful with the trazodone," she says.
           "Why's that?"
           "One of the side effects can be erectile disfunction."
            I laugh. "To be honest, it had the opposite effect on me."
            DJ says, "What do you mean?"
           "I mean, it works like Viagra on me."
           "James, don't ever take that again", Monica tells me.
            I tell her, "The girl told me it was a possible side effect."
           "That's not a side effect, that's an adverse reaction. It's called priapism."
           "What the hell is that?"
           "That's when your erection last longer than like four or six hours. Then you're supposed to go to the hospital. My friend's a nurse and she told me about a guy came who came in after like a day or something and had to have surgery and was never able to get it up again".
           "Yeah, I better tell them not to give me that anymore".
            FUCK!

           After trying to play it cool through breakfast, I immediately approached the tech counter.
          "Can I get a towel? I need to take a shower."

           I had to kill this beast before it killed me.
           I chose to save the children I would probably never choose to have.
           So, I did what I had to do.
           I won't go into detail.
           Some things are private.

           

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