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I remember the days.

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I remember the days.
By: Patrick Parkins

So as I sat there in the bathroom in a deliberate drunken haze from the two bottles of good ol' MadDog 20/20, I said to myself "How did it come to this?". The alcohol that was washing my brain at the time replied with about 85 vicious swipes to my left arm that left it completely bloodied and numb. The pocket can-opener that I used and the sloppy way that I cut my arm left quite a few deep gashes that would just not stop bleeding, I found it slightly amusing. I chuckled. The cold tile floor had a collage of pubic hair, toilet paper, and some other unknown substance that we'll just call "grey matter" which was probably a combination of semen, tp and pubes. The floor was starting to turn a shade of deep crimson and I could feel myself being let go off all of my problems and being taken back to that place I always tried to find so many times laying in bed with all the lights off blaring coldplay and the garden state soundtrack.
In my intense despair and confusion I called out for my friend. "FAZIO!" I moaned in a tone that sounded like a siren from some kind of evacuation drill during the cold war. I heard a thud come from the room as he jumped down from the top rack, and made a slight whimper because of the ankle he fucked up while he was working out at the gym. Fazio was like family, he would always try to bring everyone together and me being so timid about things he would always be like the muscle that we love to have around to diffuse volatile situations. If anyone talked shit to you while he was in your presence they would quickly retract everything they said in fear of this big guy that's making threats to them. He would always tell me "Parkins, if you were on fire, I would piss on you!" When Fazio opened the door I don't remember the exact wording but it was something along the lines of "What the fuck Parkins! Don't fucking move stay right here." as he quickly snatched the can-opener and bolted out into the hallway to go get Egg. There seemed to be a look of terror in his eyes that I couldn't understand at the time. I just laughed.
About thirty seconds later Egg and Fazio both storm the bathroom and wrap a wet maroon colored towel around my arm and Fazio quickly leaves again. Egg continues to hold my arm shaking his head side to side in disapproval of my malicious action as I look at him with a whimsical expression on my face just staring at him. For what seemed like a split second later the bathroom was covered with people to include Shmoopy, a couple docs, an MP, the other Martinez, and Sgt Fry who earlier that day told me to get a hair cut. (Which I did.) They were all trying to calm me down because at about that time the 400 milligrams of Zoloft I had take, a few hours earlier was starting to catch up to me and start microwaving my brain. I responded with punches, to my own face and very loud cackles. Deep down in what little sense I had left, I thought to myself "Ohhhhh, so this is what mania feels like! AHA!" Somehow Sgt Fry got me to the ground and the female MP put some very tight hand cuffs on my that felt like sand paper on my already serrated skin.
Slowly and awkwardly the Japanese fire fighters got me into a wheel chair and started carrying me all the down from the 4th floor. I remember looking at Shmoopy and feeling the most horrible sadness that I've ever felt in my life. I began to cry. Tears just kept flowing and all I wanted to do was sit there with Shmoopy and talk about funny things and how she was still my sister and how I was sorry for putting everyone through this. I felt so embarrassed to be hand-cuffed and stuck in this stupid fucking wheel chair as everyone watched me and I told Sgt Fry that I had gotten a hair cut and that it looked nice. So now it was time to get in the awesome compact van turned ambulance and we sped of to the hospital.
I started to come-to during that ride and shortly realized where I was headed. First the emergency room, then 3 south. The inpatient mental ward, lovely. Good times were definitely ahead.
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