Post by outcast on Nov 28, 2020 15:16:33 GMT -6
Why are you here Christian?
Good question. Isn't that the biggest question we all ask? Why are any of us here? We ponder what is the meaning of life, with some of us missing out on life because we spend so much time focusing on that question.
Don't be coy Christian. Why are you right here, right now, specifically?
Oh, you mean why am I literally here. Well, that would be by court order.
She sighed and crossed her long legs. She is my court-ordered therapist. Her name is Mary Jane, yes, the irony is not lost on me. After the little incident that left me caught in the middle of a domestic affair, I was ordered counseling. Guess there is something to say about liberal judges being softer on crime after all. I had been afraid that little incident coupled with my record would land me in some hotter water. Instead, I have to waste an hour of my day for the next few weeks where this beautiful woman tries to get me to "open up about my feelings".
Well Christian, are you going to elaborate on that answer?
Oh shit, there I go again, getting lost in my inner monologue and ignoring the outside world.
There isn't much else to say.
She gives me a look that says she knows my answer is bullshit. Her silent grimace signifying that she knows she will have to pry every answer from me.
Well, how about we start with you telling me about your parents.
How'd I know this was going to be where we started? Why don't I start by telling you how Sigmon Freud the grandfather of psychology was a pervert who most likely was molested at a young age. Or maybe we should start with how most mass shooters in America are on prescribed anti-psychotic medications. Why don't we start with how America faces the most drastic mental health issues in the world and we do a piss poor job of addressing it.
Christian, you are overthinking this. Just tell me about your parents.
My parents, shit, we are still on that topic, and I'm still inner-monologuing. I sigh, I don't want to talk about my past, it was nothing but pain. People say, "if I could go back knowing what I know now, I wouldn't change a thing", yeah, that's bullshit, I'd change almost everything.
Christian, you know this therapy isn't just me asking you questions, you have to communicate with me. Just start with the first thing that pops into your head when you think of them.
Alright, you asked for it, Mary Jane. My first memory I think of like most memories involves violence and pain.
I remember being about seven of eight and watching Saturday morning cartoons. My mom was asleep on the couch, well more like passed out. The front door flies open and it's my dad, still riding high from his all-night bender. The door swinging open scared me to death and pulled my mom out of her Mad Dog 20/20 endued coma. I had seen my dad like this before and knew to stay out of his way, but I couldn't keep my mouth shut when he turned off Transformers to watch Illinois State.
I remember saying, "Hey, I'm watching that", and then I remember opening my eyes while I was laying on the floor. I remember the taste of blood as it filled my mouth. I remember the sting of my inner cheeks as my saliva mixed with the fresh cuts. I remember my mom and dad arguing. Then the most vivid of the memories, my Dad punching my Mom in the face like she was a grown man.
She was passed out on the couch again, this time in an overhand right induced coma. I remember her nose looking like it had exploded on her face as blood covered her chin. That is the day I realized my dad wasn't just an asshole, but he was also a monster.
I see the color drain from her face as the look of sadness and horrified shock overtakes her annoyance of me dancing around her questions. She must be new to this line of work, not yet callused to the atrocities of the world. I should have known by how young she looked, but also by how optimistic her attitude is. I can't bear to look at her and avert my eyes to my right knee which is bouncing up and down, as a bit of a nervous tick. I put my hand on my knee in a feeble attempt to hold it down.
I hear her clear her throat and then her sweet voice cuts through the awkwardness that hangs thick in the air.
What is your first happy memory of your childhood that comes to mind?
Shit, do I even have any of those? My knee stops bouncing, but now I find my left hand digging at the seem of the couch arm. I try to dig through my mind for a happy memory, but it’s like digging through a landfill trying to find a childhood toy. She may be young, but she can tell that I am struggling with this.
Christian, don’t overthink it. Anything that made you happy as a kid, the first thing you can think of, just tell me about it.
There it is, my Teddy Bear’s arm, sticking out of a pile of rotten food. I slap the brown banana peel off the bear's arm and yank it out of the garbage.
When I was about nine or ten, I woke up early on a Sunday morning. Mom passed out in the bedroom with bottles around the bed, and Dad passed out in the old recliner with a needle in his arm.
Christian, I said happy.
Stay with me kid, I’m getting there. Don’t discredit my Teddy because it is dirty.
Beside my Dad, a bottle of liquor, I can’t recall the brand, knowing him it’s whatever was cheapest. The bottle is half empty.
Half-empty… queue her writing down that I’m pessimistic in her little notepad.
I wanted to see why he and my mother both loved that stuff so much. So, I took the bottle and made my way to the roof of our building. I remember sitting up there and drinking that whole bottle. The first drink was awful, and it burned the whole way down. From my mouth to the pit of my stomach it burned, but I wanted more. What happened from there, well, obviously is a little fuzzy. But I remember my parents finding me, my Mom frantic over my state, and my dad upset that I was following his path. I remember tears of joy for my being ok, tears of sadness for what I had done to myself, and tears of anger that they had let this happen to me. I… I…
My words trail off and dissipate into the air as I fall silent. She sits forward, her glasses drop to the end of her nose. I have to admit, it’s quite alluring. I wonder if she uses her attractiveness as a tool to disarm patients
Christian, why is this a happy memory?
Good question, honestly, I don’t know why it is. It is what sprang to mind though when I tried to think of a happy memory. Guess I better come up with an answer. I need to say something to justify this memory, not to her, but myself.
I guess it is my first encounter with what would be the closest thing to me for a majority of my life in alcohol.
She slowly sits back into her chair and stares at me. It may only be for a moment, but it feels like an eternity. For some reason I feel suspense coming over me, wondering if she is silently judging me. Why would I care what she thinks? I don’t even know her, but for some reason I do. Has she broken my walls down that easily?
Do you think it is possible that this is a happy memory to you because it is a memory that shows your parents cared for you?
Well, shit, that hit like a hook to the gut from Mike Tyson.
I try and hide it but I can't
Why do I act like I am all high and mighty
When inside I'm dying, I am finally realizin' I need, help
Why do I act like I am all high and mighty
When inside I'm dying, I am finally realizin' I need, help
(Darkness. Darkness that feels the body with a sense of dread as the nothingness of that darkness consumes the psyche. A lone raspy voice cuts through, giving the brain a slight relief from the creeping anxiety.)
The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate. He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate, and now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow. Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, and somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville, mighty Casey has struck out.
Lucas Thames, the might Casey of the GCWA. The icon, the man always on the cusp of greatness, but that cusp is where you remain. Lucas, you have all the tools in your toolbox to achieve greatness, yet that greatness eludes you. Time after time, the big ones have slipped through your fingers and you have watched greatness float out to sea while you were stuck on the shore unable or unwilling to swim after it.
Lucas, to say you are a disappointment would be mislabeling you. One is no longer a disappointment when disappointment is all that is expected from someone. That is what is expected of you Lucas, to disappoint everyone as you fall just short of greatness. I wonder what it will take to push you past that point, to push you past yourself. We will find out Lucas because I am going to push you past the brink. I am going to push you further than you have ever been pushed both physically and mentally.
We will swim into the deep, dark waters of what the body and mind can endure, it is these waters where I not only swim and live but where I flourish. It is in these same waters that you will either find yourself, or you will lose yourself. Rather you break, or you find something inside of yourself that you never knew existed, you are leaving without the Unified X-Division championship, but you are leaving forever marked with our encounter.
(A clink is heard, followed by a single flame that slightly illuminates Outcast's face as he lights his Newport. His footsteps echo through the darkness as he moves closer, and his face becomes brighter.)
Achievemephobia, the fear of success. I don’t know what deep-seated issues you have that cause you to have this fear of success, but we will work through it. Inferno will be your own little therapy session, but it’ll be more like a shock therapy treatment. You’ll receive a full-frontal lobotomy in the form of a package piledriver. We’re going to tap into that brain of yours too and we are going to find that dark secret that holds you back.
While you will not be leaving Dallas as the Unified X-Division championship, you will be leaving with a new outlook on the sport, but more importantly a new outlook on life. You will know what it is to go to the brink physically and mentally. You will know that you are capable of more than you previously imagined because will finally know what true defeat is.
I’m not talking about losing a match, losing a title opportunity, or even about losing some blood. No Lucas, I am talking about losing your mind through sheer unadulterated pain and suffering. You will learn from the master of pain what it is like to fear for your very existence in the middle of a ring while a blood thirsty crowd looks on.
Sounds like gladiators in the coliseum, doesn’t it? I hope so because that is exactly the point. Do you think those gladiators were afraid of success? No, they lived through success, winning was their only option, and when it is your only option you will do whatever it takes to win. I am a modern-day gladiator, I will do whatever it takes to win because winning is all I have left in my life. I will show you what it takes to be a winner Lucas, and hopefully, you will take something away from this painful lesson.
(The ember of the Newport shines bright in the darkness as Outcast takes a deep inhale. Outcast slowly exhales and the smoke consumes the view and fades into darkness.)