March 12, 2012
I hate my life. My parents constantly yell at me. It’s not my fault if I can’t understand math. I have math anxiety, a real condition, but of course my parents just think I’m making excuses. I can’t deal with it anymore. I swear one day I’m going to snap. My girlfriend cheated on me, all of my friends are blaming me for her actions and are leaving me, I’m starting to fail my classes, and on top of that I have my dad hounding on me to go to a military school. I can’t deal with it anymore. I feel so angry. There’s just so much frustration building inside me. I’m a time bomb. Now I know how Bruce Banner feels.
March 15, 2012
I don’t remember the last two and a half days. I remember my dad yelling at me again and then boom, I’m lying on the bathroom floor sweating. My shoes are muddy too, and worn out, like I’ve ran in them. But I don’t remember running. Why does this keep on happening to me?
- - -
So I asked around school today and everybody said I was acting weird. I was more arrogant, kind of a jerk. I was flirting with all the girls. I trashed on my ex. I even talked back to my APUSH teacher and now I have a week of detention. They said it was worse than the previous times. Exactly what keeps on happening to me? Why can’t I never remember anything? Now everybody is avoiding me. Nobody wants to talk to me. What’s worse, even my parents won’t talk to me. Apparently I said something rude to my dad but they won’t tell me. They think I’m faking everything … but I’m not. Why me?
March 20, 2012
Life is hell. I’m ostracized at school because of my disrespectful behavior, my teachers treat me like a demon child, and my parents won’t even look at me. I’m not even allowed to sit at the family table anymore! They drop off the food at my door and I have to eat my dinner in my room. What did I do! Why can’t I remember anything?
- - -
I draw the hoodie over my head. Walking briskly, I trail the man, making sure not to be seen. We enter an empty street. I look around to make sure that nobody is watching. I grab a rock from the ground. Crouching, I quickly run over to the man and smash the rock against the back of his head. He’s dead. I hoist is body over my shoulder and run.
March 23, 2012
My dad’s dead. His body was found in a dumpster 10 miles south of our neighborhood. The back of his head was caved in. Oh my god. He’s gone. The only memory I can recall of us is him yelling at me. My mom is blaming me. She keeps saying “I hope you’re happy! Your wish came true after all didn’t it”. What wish? Why me? What did I say to him! I don’t want him dead. Yes he was a jerk sometimes but he was still my dad. I can’t
April 5, 2012
I woke up in the bathroom again, and this time there was blood on my hands… I’m so scared; I don’t know what’s happening. Why do I keep spacing out? Ever since I moved three years ago this has been happening.
There was blood everywhere. On my jacket, my hands, my jeans. I tried to take a shower and wash everything off but it wouldn’t go away. I’m losing my mind. My stomach aches, as if I was intensely running away from somebody or something. And my mom isn’t home yet either. I don’t know what’s going on.
- - -
I called the cops. My mom never returned from work and the store said she left more than five hours ago. I don’t know where she is and I hope she’s safe …
REAL TIME: April 20th, 2012
“What …where am I?” I look around, I’m handcuffed to a chair.
“Don’t play smart with me, you know exactly where you are punk.” A police officer slammed his fist down on the table in front of me and drew his face close to mine. “Why did you murder your mom? And why did you attempt to murder Officer Jackson”
“What do you mean murdered my mom? She’s dead? What! Since when?” Panic and confusion started to form in my body. Was my mom really dead? And what is he talking about me murdering her? I couldn’t do that? I don’t have the guts to kill a bug, let alone a person, let alone my mom! And why would I attack a police officer? And how did I end up here? The last thing I remember was being too worried about my mom to fall asleep.
“Don’t be a smartass kid. We found your blood on your mom’s clothes and Officer Jackson clearly recalls you attacking him, so fess up”
“But how is that possible? The last thing I remember is not being able to fall asleep after the officers left my house yesterday?”
The police officer looked at me like I was mad … “Are you trying to act smart? The officers were at your house 15 days ago”
I paled. “What…but…how… LET ME OUT. LET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW. I DEMAND TO BE SET FREE. I SHALL TAKE REVENGE ON EVERYBODY WHO HAS HURT ME. I HAVE BEEN BEATEN AND TRAMPLED ON MY WHOLE LIFE AND NOW I SHALL HAVE VENGANCE. LET ME GO YOU INSIGNIFICANT PIECE OF TRASH. I WILL HURT YOU I SWEAR.
“What are you doing?” I screamed as two officers tackled me “LET ME GO! HELP! HELP ME!”
“You tried to attack me! If it weren’t for the cuffs, I would have been dead right now. Lock him.”
The guards took me and tossed me into a cell. I started to weep.
“What was that?”
“I have no idea”
“He could be faking”
“Maybe. But I read his diary. It looks like he has been having gaps in his memory for a while, ever since they moved here. I asked around with his friends and family and they said that his father always abused him, but it got worse when they moved. Josh’s dad lost his job just months before the moved and so they found a cheaper house here, but his dad began to grow more aggressive. He became slightly depressed and grew a dependency on alcohol. As his addiction grew worse, he began taking his frustration out on Josh. Ever since the abuse started, people have noticed how there would be time frames during which Josh would act different. He’d be more belligerent, more likely to break the rules, more aggressive. I think there’s something wrong with him. We should call in a psychiatrist.”
April 22, 2012
So I’m being transferred to a mental asylum. According to the pysch psick psychiatrist, have dissociative identity disorder. Basically, I’m two different people. The calm me, which is how I was born, and then the angry me, which was created as a defense against my dad’s abuse. So I did kill my parents…well…part of me did. The other half. Oh god. Now everything makes sense. My memory lapses. The reactions to my outrageous behavior. The muddy shoes. The blood.
I’m being moved to a mental asylum for public safety, because nobody wants a freak like me running out on the streets. Now I have to enter psychotherapy. The hope is that somehow I can get my two personalities to coexist and that I learn to control my angry side. I’m also going to be given medication, but that’s just a failsafe. They don’t always work and sometimes they may increase my disorder. The psychiatrist also mentioned hypnosis as a treatment but I think he might have been joking…
May 7, 2012
It’s not getting better, the medications aren’t helping and my lapses are getting longer. I can’t seem to control my emotions at all. I try to manage my anger side but it just never comes out. No matter how hard I try. To make things worse, I had a huge anger burst and beat up two inmates, so now I’m in solitary confinement, which will probably just worsen my problem.
June 12, 2012
I give up. What’s the point. I’m never going to be able to control both sides of me. I’m just pathetic, weak. I’ve become addicted to my medication, and I was out for at least three weeks, god knows what I did. Nobody will talk to me. I’m just a freak. A burden. Useless. Just like my dad said. Why do I even try anymore? It’s so much simpler to let go. I should just let it go.
Arkham Asylum Medical Report
Report Number : 98420RTDJO
Patient Number : 293840
Patient Name : Josh S. Adams
Diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder; Depression
Diagnosis Rating: Severe; Concerning High
Date of Birth: April 3, 1996
Home Address: 2556 E. Fernor Rd, Gizbon, GA, 35205
Patient found dead by means of suicide on June 25, 2012 at 2:39 p.m. Found in bathtub with glass shard in right hand, cut on left wrist. Bled to death.
Current Status: : At Bartholmon Mortuary
Burial Location: St. Almon Church
Psychiatrist: Martha B. Gordonski
Therapist: Robert L. Jason