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Fix Me

For my entire life, someone has been trying to fix me. It’s kinda funny because I never thought I was broken to begin with.

I was always a lively little kid. I would get in trouble for the dumbest shit, too. In kindergarten, I got sent to the principals office because I flipped a hand dryer upside down and put toilet paper over it so it would blow all over the bathroom. I thought this is what was supposed to be fun about school. I never really cared for school after that.

It didn’t help that the next year, my teacher was convinced that I had ADHD. What the fuck did she expect from a 6-year-old little boy? That I would sit still for 7 hours a day and listen the whole time? Well, she told my parents that I was overly hyper, I went to the doctor, and got my first prescription of Adderall.

“Why do I need to take this?” I asked my mom.

“It will help you focus. You’ll be able to sit still and listen at school. You won’t get in trouble anymore, Gary,” Mom replied.

I never minded getting in trouble so much, but there was no getting out of taking my stupid pill every morning. I fucking hated it. About an hour after I would take this pill, I would feel myself slip away. All my energy, my creativity, even my personality would slip away for hours as I sat at school.

“Mom, the pill makes me feel so weak. Please don’t make me take it anymore,” I pleaded after two years of taking the meds.

She would look down at me with her green eyes and frown. “I’m so sorry love, but this is the only way you’ll ever do well in school.”

Mom wasn’t the only one who was trying to fix me. I have two older sisters and my dad had always wanted a son he could play sports with. I never have given two shits about sports. This is one of my flaws if you ask my dad. He tried to fix this deficit I had.

I was put into just about every sport under the sun to spark my interest. I played soccer, baseball, tennis, football, shit; they even threw me in taekwondo; desperate for some athletic ability to click. I only lasted a season or so in each sport. I wasn’t built for it, and I never cared. This shattered my father’s high expectations of me from an early age. I know even now he still wants a son who he can watch a game of football with, talk stats, whatever chummy dads and sons do together. But that’s just not us.

The only thing that my family wasn’t disappointed in was my music. I started playing the guitar when I was a kid, and I’m still pretty good at it. I love to write songs and learn how to play new ones. I thought maybe I could be a musician when I grew up. My parents worked very hard to convince me that this is just a hobby and that I should consider other lines of work. Theresa and Andy: crushing children’s dreams since 1996. I smoked weed for the first time when I was a sophomore in high school. After years of having my family’s expectations thrust upon me, the weed made me feel lighter. My friends normally just shared with me. But I did buy some from this dude at school one time.

And since I seriously can’t fucking do anything right, I naturally got caught. Someone ratted me and my friends out and we were subjected to a drug test. Just one more failure to add to my rap sheet. I went to a private school, so I was forced to go to a pastoral counseling center to rehabilitate me from my stoner ways.

I said what I knew I needed to say to pass the program. I received a certificate of completion that I would have fucking loved to burn. But the school wouldn’t take me off probation without it, and I wasn’t afforded that luxury. I couldn’t smoke weed again until after I graduated from high school. I was on the permanent list of students to randomly drug test. With nothing else to occupy my time, I got really into video games. I always really liked to play them. It was fun with my friends and with my sisters, and especially by myself. The characters in the games were, and still are, the only things I have any control over in my life. My parents decided this was a problem that needed fixing too.

“I think he’s got a video game addiction,” my mom would worry.

Yes, it’s completely abnormal for a 15-year-old kid to play video games for hours on end. Fucking morons.

I graduated high school by the skin of my teeth. Why I thought it would be a good idea to go to college is beyond me.

Oh, wait a second. It wasn’t my fucking idea. I know, you’re completely shocked that my parents who were always trying to shape me into some perfect boy would basically force me to go to college. I was honestly a bit surprised a school accepted me with my shit record. It was a state school a couple of hours away from home, and clearly they let anyone in.

As soon as I was on my own, I started to do stuff my way. I was far away from the reach of my parents. But that didn’t stop them from coming to check on me every other week. My sister, Annie, went to school 30 minutes from our house and they never checked on her like that!

I started ignoring their calls and texts.

They stopped sending me money.

I started selling plasma so I could start smoking weed again.

I stopped going to class.

I started failing everything.

I dropped out after one semester.

Don’t seem so fucking surprised. Like I said, I don’t even like school.

So back home I went to stay with my parents. They got back into their favorite routine of trying to fix me. After 18 years, they still are trying to keep me from being the disappointing young man I am becoming.

I started picking up temporary warehouse jobs here and there with the other high school and college dropouts. I wasn’t crazy about getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to go to work, so I lucked out and was able to get my old serving job I had back in high school. Everyone smokes weed here, so I figured I would be fine.

Would you be surprised to discover that everything wasn’t fine? No?

Good, you’re learning the patterns of a classic fuck up.

I went out to smoke on my lunch break. One of my tables ratted me out to my manager that I reeked of pot, and I was fired on the spot. I told my parents that I quit. The last thing I needed was another fucking lecture about how I am such a disappointment and why am I not like my successful older sisters who are not complete screw-ups. I’m pretty sure they didn’t believe my story, but at least I avoided a lecture.

It’s the little things, you know?

Let me tell you something else I’m good at since this exposition is starting to sound like a goddamned pity party. I love animals, especially dogs. Dogs love me and I’m really good with them. Somehow I got connected to this dog-groomer and I got a job helping was the dogs. He would also teach me about how to cut their hair and other little tricks of the trade. I finally found something I really like doing; something that I could actually have as a career.

As per usual, mom had higher expectations of me and was telling me her hopes that one day I would own this business. My older sister, Tracey, would reassure me that I don’t have to have my shit figured out at the ripe old age of 20.

I had money again, so naturally I found some weed. I got it from this new source my buddy Brandon knew. This stuff got me like…I don’t know…a high I had never experienced before from weed. It opened up my mind, and I’m starting to understand life more. I really liked it, so I decided I should just keep buying from this dude.

My new dealer’s name is Russell, and he knows a lot. We smoked together a few times and he started telling me about the Illuminati and how they influence the world. At first I thought it was bullshit, but Russell showed me these videos on YouTube after we smoked one time and now I know that it’s legit. He knows someone pretty high up in the organization and he said that I could meet the guy if I start helping him out.

I started running drugs for him and giving him money periodically. For my assistance, Russell gave me more weed for free. I’d smoke it after working with the dogs and I stay up late watching videos about the Illuminati. I have to meet Russell’s connection, I decided, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to meet him. I think I’ve given Russell about $2000, but it will be totally worth it when I finally meet this guy. I’m running out of money, so I started selling plasma because my paycheck isn’t enough.

I get a loan from a cash advance place because the plasma isn’t enough.

Did I mention that Satan started talking to me recently? I haven’t actually seen him, but I usually hear Him at night. We have short conversations generally just shooting the shit. He told me that if I don’t meet this leader soon that I should just kill myself because I’m a worthless piece of shit. I’m starting to think he’s right.

I’m getting desperate with Russell because I want to live and I have to meet this guy and serve him. Weeks go by…still nothing. Satan comes back and tells me that I have to die because I have failed. I agree with him, so I grab this 6-inch knife I bought and have a seat in front of my computer. I hold the knife to my neck. I feel the sharp blade against my skin and I feel terrified to die.

Satan tells me that there’s another way. If I start to tell people about the Illuminati, then I will be worthy to live.

He tells me one more thing too: I have to be playing a video game at a certain time on a certain day, or the world is going to end. Satan sees my potential. He’s the first one who hasn’t tried to fix me.

I figure the easiest people to convince will be my parents. They would understand, I’m their son. We don’t always get along, but they need to know about the Illuminati and Satan’s plans for me.

“There’s this illuminated idea and they are controlling the world. I want to be a part of their group. I think they will take care of me, but I’m having trouble getting to them.”

Mom’s eyes widen. She looks at me like I’m fucking insane.

I show her the video, and the look on her face remains.

“When was the last time you slept?” she asks.

“Maybe two days ago, I don’t need any fucking sleep. I need to find the Illuminati.”

She gives me some Benadryl and tries to get me to go to bed. How can I fucking sleep when I need to prepare to save the world? Sleep is for fucking losers. They wouldn’t assign a loser to save the world. In the morning, Mom suggests we go for a drive. I keep trying to tell her what’s going on, but she won’t have it. We pull up to the emergency room.

She really thinks I’m fucking crazy! Just one more thing to try and save my soul or some shit.

She’s going to get me locked up!

I try to tell the ER doctors that I’m fine and this is just a misunderstanding. See, the world is supposed to end on Sunday and I need to be playing the game to save everyone.

They put me in a separate room away from the ER while these people decide whether they need to lock me in chains for the rest of my life.

I need to get out of here.

I need to get away from these people.

I’m perfectly fine.

Just more motherfuckers who see me as a problem.

I tell another nice lady about the situation and how Satan told me that I have to save the world. She’ll understand; she’ll see reason and let me go.

These guys in white suits come into my room to take me away. Involuntarily admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Just another group of people trying to fix me.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline : 1-800-273-8255 National Alliance of Mental Illness:

Nashville, TN, USA

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