Psychology Project

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”


“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

Incident Report:

                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

Confused... Again..

This is going to be a bit of a rant, and if you read it all then I thank you.   You see the thing is I have never really journalled, well I’ve tried but I can never really give it a thought, my dissassociation generally kicks in and blanks my mind..

Just at the moment I’m quite unsure of what to do, I have so many racing thoughts sorting of going through my head (not really aware of them).   I don’t feel unwell enough to be getting help, in fact I feel normal.   But when I feel normal I want to trigger myself, so I do.   I make a plan to get more self-destructive.   See I decided to get better.    But I’m not so sure anymore.   It’s like I’m fighting an uphill battle.

I’m sitting here and I’m thinking should I give up?   Should I keep pushing?  I really don’t know what to do - I did have more to say but my mind is cutting me off.   I guess that’s part of the problem, it cuts me off the point I don’t really understand why I am the way I am?    I don’t know who I am x.x; It’s like my mood define me.

Oh fuck knows, That is all.  Thanks for listening. 


Every night I hope that in the morning, something awful would have happened in my life that I’ve restrained myself from acknowledging, anything to give me a reason for feeling this way.

I used to explain it off by using things that don’t effect me any longer - or sometimes never did - as excuses. People touched me. People hit me. People taunted me. People left me. I have excuses, see? Lined out on a sheet of paper, what I should feel from these things. What the textbooks say should be the side-effects, and the stories dictate to people who don’t listen but instead jump to conclusions because I am not myself to them - I am not me, I am the by-product of my life and the things in it.

I am not sad about any of the things they assume. I am sad because I am. I am sad because I have no reason to be, but feeling it anyway. My head is cold and dark and empty, except for these three things: hopelessness, disappointment, anger. Sometimes it’s too much and my mind leaves my body. Things feel unreal. My life is on auto-pilot. I remember being told that this is disocciation. I remember them telling me to ‘grip ice-cubes’, ‘go for a cold shower’, ‘shock yourself into remembering you’re still there’. Instead, I remember bleeding and waiting for it to hurt. I could see I was alive. I could see that I was hurting. I felt something other than emptiness and sadness and anger and hopelessness - I felt the worry about the staining, the tinge of pain that grew to a throb, the crash to urge when I realised it was my skin and my blood and my hand on the razor.

I remember feeling sad and empty, but it’s been a long time. It’s been a while since I’ve shut myself away and pushed everyone in my life away as much as I could, past the point of caring about it more than short acknowledgement and occassional stabs of regret. I think it’s because the future seems so far away, everything is in another lifetime in someone else’s life. I think it’s because suddenly I’m back where I never thought I’d be, stuck back in a place I never thought I’d be lost in again.