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Lunacy When Michael Met Sierra

EveryDayAmnesiac

I just wanted to be loved by you.
So, for the most part, lady friend doesn't read anything I post on this forum without "permission" because she thinks it's important for me to have a little something of my own. Because she's fucking amazing.

I'm the same way with all her social media ... I tried to keep up with it for a while but it's YouTube and TikTok and Twitter and Instagram and whatever the fuck else. I'm too old to keep up with all of it. It's gotten to the point where she simply asks me for "permission" about her outfits in videos or pictures of herself - something I've never asked her to do and never would - and help for making her posts more "meaningful."

So a couple nights ago I "caught" her going through my boxes of old writings - bar napkin notes, novels, screenplays, etc. And I needlessly flipped out and got pissed and yelled, "What are you doing going through my stuff??!! That is MINE!!!"

And to her credit, she calmly replied, "I thought you said all your old writing was OURS now."

Yeah. I felt like a dick. Especially since we had agreed to no secrets between us whatsoever for any reason early on.

So she's reading this short story about Audrey, my friend from childhood who killed herself near the end of junior year of high school and sent me into a spiritual tailspin. And she's telling me how sadly beautiful it is and she's trying not to cry. Eventually, it led her to ask me if I would write something about her and me.

We thought about it a while and she asked if I would write about the way she and I met.

I told her I wasn't sure that was a good idea. It's kind of embarrassing that we met in a psych ward after both being involuntarily committed for being wildly suicidal due to drug abuse and untreated dangerous bipolar disorder. She tells me it's the only way we ever would have met.



So, this is Vol. 1 of a VA exclusive lol. For what it's worth.




So, I had been on a three-day bender. Drinking and drinking. Among other usage. Didn't really matter the first two days because they were my days off. But on day three, I decided to drink most of a fifth of bourbon and then drive to work. I'm not proud of that, but that's what happened. Thankfully I didn't hurt anyone in the process.

I was working as a cook in a restaurant, and when they opened up at 11, the people started coming in. And I saw a girl who was the spitting image of Audrey. And I lost my shit.

I started weeping in the stockroom, and cackling Joker style, screaming about how I was going to kill myself, and freaking out the staff and customers. The managers on duty decided to call the police and have me involuntarily committed. So the police came and "escorted" me to the squad car and took me to the nearest hospital. They put fucking handcuffs on me.

Generally, people all go through the same phases when this happens. The first phase is rage. And believe me, I was in a rage. I lashed out at the nurses trying to get blood and urine samples. I lashed out at the security guards. I lashed out at the doctors. And I was throwing shit around and breaking things and slamming the door again and again and trying to bust all the damn windows they have so they can observe you. So I was labeled "combative." And treated accordingly. Not fun.

I spent nearly three days detoxing, and sweating my balls off to the point they had to bring fresh bedding in every few hours, and not eating, and glaring at any nurse who tried to be nice to me. One of them told me the results of my blood and urine tests and apparently my blood alcohol content should have killed me but I vomited so much after they took the sample it probably saved my life. I screamed obscenities at her.

So the 72 hours are almost up, and I'm pacing waiting to get out, and they drop a little information bomb on me.

See, this 72 hours law, it's a law that has good intentions, but needs to be reworked from the ground up. You basically lose all your rights for 72 hours - but here's the thing. If they transfer you to a different hospital, the 72 hour clock restarts. And that's what happened to me. Also, you get stuck with the bill.

So I get to the new hospital via escort of county sherrifs and arrive about midnight. They at least gave me some meds to help me sleep there. I cried most of the night.

Then I hit phase 2 the next morning - humiliation.

I was just sitting in one of the "social rooms" ignoring breakfast and wanting to kill myself more than I ever have.



Then ... I hear a commotion. It's a girl screaming at the staff. This was way the fuck down at admissions so in order to hear it from my location, she had to be in a rage - Phase 1.

There was something about her voice that made me immediately need to see her. So I turn a few corners, walk down two hallways, and turn the last corner.

She sees me out of the corner of her eye and turns toward me. She stopped yelling instantly. And we both simply stared at each other down this long ass hallway. Both of us with our hands hanging down loosely. One could call it a widescreen cinematic shot of a moment. We stared at each other for a long time. She's in hospital scrubs because her clothes hadn't been washed yet ... and still looking amazing. Stunningly beautiful. I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a couple of minutes.



I'll quit there in case no one wants to read this. If anyone would like to hear more, feel free to tell me.

Vol. 2 is about how Sierra ended up there.
 

EveryDayAmnesiac

I just wanted to be loved by you.
I promised I would be sober when I wrote this and write it out with no edits and no drafts. I’m (mostly) keeping my promise. :cheers:


So … Sierra has been a grief-stricken young lady nearly her entire life. She watched her grandmother pass away when she was five. She witnessed her uncle drown when she was nine.

Her father abandoned her and her mother when she was three. She only knows what he looks like because of photographs. They have never actually spoken. She has tracked down where he lives but won’t go to see him. She wrote him a letter to see if they could possibly come to some kind of terms and he never responded. The letter was returned to sender. That was five years ago. Not a word from him.

What he does do is send checks to her every month. Only a man could think this is an acceptable way to apologize. Just throw some money at my daughter and that will make it right. Granted, the checks are quite generous, so to speak, and she doesn’t have to worry about working anytime soon if ever, but she would gladly trade that shit for an opportunity to speak to her father. For even five goddamn minutes.

So … her mother remarries when she’s seven, and believe it or not, stepfather was a violent drunkard and manipulative and mentally abusive fuckface who decided that he was in charge the moment he moved in. A tale as old as stepfathers’ time. They were living in extreme poverty.

She retreated into herself and hid away from the world as best she could. No friends. No socializing. No risks. And no matter what she did, good ol’ stepdaddy would berate her for it. He would yell at her in a desperately pathetic attempt to forget about his arrant failure at life and take it out on someone too young and small to defend herself.

The bombardment of verbal abuse continued. About her hair, her clothes, her grades, her intelligence, her face, and how she was too skinny and would never be able to attract a man. She was thirteen at this point.

She’d had enough.

She was slicing up an orange at the time to feed the racoons that lived around her house. A knife bigger and sharper than was necessary. Probably a subconscious thing.

When he told her she was so stupid that she didn't know how to slice an orange, she whirled around and threw that knife right at him. Threw it hard enough to make it stick into his shoulder. This led to her first stay in a psych ward.

As it sometimes tends to go, stepdaddy had done no wrong, and little stepdaughter was crazy and just acting out. Too young to know better.

There’s a lot more story in between, but I’ll leave it at that for now.



So she learned at a young age to not trust, and even hate, males. So she didn’t go to dances. She didn’t dream of meeting some special boy in a band. She didn’t have any crush – except for one.

There was this one shy nerdy boy who was always nice to her since kindergarten. She was crazy about him and how sweet he always was to her and how he would sneak shy boy looks at her.

The crush continued through junior high and high school. She had been labeled “crazy girl” and so most people were afraid of her. She sat alone at lunch outside in the courtyard and refused to participate in class and nobody wanted her for group projects, and she was a downhearted outsider whom no one wanted anything to do with.

But she made a friend senior year. And they became crazy besties. Went on buzz cruises together and giggled together and made fun of other girls together.

Then high school was over and her boy crush went away to college and she was miserable. He went to Ivy League and she got a job at the local gas station. She was and still is smart as a whip, but simply not a good student. Never got the grades. Didn’t play the game. Didn’t follow the rules to be a "success."

So two years go by. And Sierra walks over to her bff’s house down the street. And guess what she finds.

Her best friend on her back, legs spread and held back against her shoulders, and Sierra’s boy crush since kindergarten pounding into her like he paid for it. Loveless. Meaningless. A grotesque parody of the act of love. Passing time without thinking of the consequences. Sad, coked-up sex.

Sierra lost the plot.

They were having such loud and crude sex they didn’t even notice her. So she went to the kitchen, grabbed the knife collection, went back to the room and screeched at them and then started throwing knives at them while screaming how she was going to kill herself and kill them too.

For better or worse, she missed her targets. Regardless, the police were called and she was hauled away to the same funny farm where I was.

Thankfully, no formal charges were filed.



So she gets there, and they immediately take away all her clothes because of COVID and put her in hospital scrubs. But she won’t give up her boots. They were / are her favorites and she makes a huge production out of it. She says she’ll take out the laces (laces not allowed in psych wards) and it’ll be fine and that she won’t do anything violent with them.

Yeah. These boots she was wearing could easily be used as a weapon, for clarity’s sake. But she wasn’t having it. So she was ranting and raving and challenging any nurse or security guard to take her on. And then her screaming suddenly stopped.

Then.... guess what happens.

She sees me out of the corner of her eye and turns toward me. She stopped yelling instantly. And we both simply stared at each other down this long ass hallway. Both of us with our hands hanging down loosely. One could call it a widescreen cinematic shot of a moment. We stared at each other for a long time. She's in hospital scrubs because her clothes hadn't been washed yet ... and still looking amazing. Stunningly beautiful. I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a couple of minutes.


Vol. 3 if anyone wants to hear it, you'll have to say so. My confidence is waning evermore these days.
 
Last edited:

EveryDayAmnesiac

I just wanted to be loved by you.
Vol. 4


If you want to read Vol. 3 then you'll just have to burn off a couple of more calories and click around this forum.


So ... let's pick up at this point. This seems to be every reader's favorite part. With good reason. It's like totally the best part.

She sees me out of the corner of her eye and turns toward me. She stopped yelling instantly. And we both simply stared at each other down this long ass hallway. Both of us with our hands hanging down loosely. One could call it a widescreen cinematic shot of a moment. We stared at each other for a long time. She's in hospital scrubs because her clothes hadn't been washed yet ... and still looking amazing. Stunningly beautiful. I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a couple of minutes.


First, I'm going to have to burst your bubble.

Okay, this happened nearly a year ago. It was not love at first sight. It was more like I don't know what the fuck is going on and I've been involuntarily committed to the psych ward and everyone is my enemy.

Let's get that just right out of the way. This is not a love story. But it kind of is.

Stop crying. It's not that kind of story. I'm talking to you, mom.

So ...

Sierra was done pontificating about her goddamn boots. Yeah, they're sexy as fuck. And they go up to her thighs and you immediately want to ask her out the moment you see her. They ARE NOT boots you wear into a psych ward.

So my hair and beard was long at that point. Like ... long. And my glasses square.

So we stared at each other down the hallway.

It went on for a long time.

The nurses and security let it go on because it was calming her dowm.

Eventually, they gave her the toiletries legally required and she walked down to her room.

Oddly enough, the room right across from mine. The thing is, when invalids get sent in, they have to stay in seperate rooms. No roommates.

So we talked to each other all night when we couldn't sleep.

Vol. 5 if anyone is interested.
 

EveryDayAmnesiac

I just wanted to be loved by you.
So ...

Lady friend and I we decide to make burritos tonight.

And by "we," I mean I do all the work and she comes downstairs in her goth girl getup and decides it's good enough for her.

Homemade guac, homemade pico, vegetarian, organic, probably about $50 worth of food. Even the fucking beans were soaked overnight.

Now, I've worked at restaurants off and on over the past twenty years. She worked at Taco Bell for a year.

Her ability to do "wraps" is off the charts. I was folding mine all nice and neat and I turn around she's already eating hers. And it's folded way better than mine.

So we started talking fast food.

Look, no judgements here. I've eaten plenty of fast food in my time on this planet.

But let's face it - when you eat fast food, you're basically saying, "Fuck you!" to your body. That's just the way it is.

This is why Sierra and I only eat at the two restaurants in this county that make everything from scratch. Yeah, it's expensive. But we generally spend the whole afternoon there and the bartenders and head chefs know us and at this point I don't really understand what's on the bill but it's definitely less than what it should be. It very well may be because of Sierra's skirts. They short. She thinks it's funny when her butt cheeks show.

So we're driving home today. And we pass a Taco Bell. And Sierra starts throwing up.

Literally.

Head hanging out the window. I had to pull over.

And then we had to stop at the hippie grocery store so "we" could make burritos.

" Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking about Taco Bell."

What the fuck?
 

EveryDayAmnesiac

I just wanted to be loved by you.
So ... Sierra made a video of me.

I've watched it. It stared off as me reacting to her acting like a little prima donna, and then for some reason it went into my love for The Catcher In the Rye, and then there was this bit about my love for Tom Waits, and then it went to The Beatles, and then it went to Sylvia Plath - I don't know how that happened - and then it went to Spawn, and then Fight Club, and then how Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark are the greatest books ever, and then and how I hate George Will, and how the only thing Lou Reed ever did musically was write down what had happened to him on the previous day and sing about it in a monotone voice, and then Coen Bros. movies, and then Johnny Carson, and then how Flying Dog Doggie Style Pale Ale is like the greatest pale ale ever, and then Robocop, and then Camper Van Beethoven, and then South Park, and then stop-animation as a visual medium, and it just kept going. Iv'e watched the video and I look like a raving idiot. But with great hair.

This video is 30 minutes long. I'm trying to get out ahead of this one.

She is basically blackmailing me at this point.

"Dude, the next time you piss me off, I am posting this and sending links to all my friends."

The digital age. You can't get away with anything.
 

Tincandtoke

Denny Crane!
So ... Sierra made a video of me.

I've watched it. It stared off as me reacting to her acting like a little prima donna, and then for some reason it went into my love for The Catcher In the Rye, and then there was this bit about my love for Tom Waits, and then it went to The Beatles, and then it went to Sylvia Plath - I don't know how that happened - and then it went to Spawn, and then Fight Club, and then how Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark are the greatest books ever, and then and how I hate George Will, and how the only thing Lou Reed ever did musically was write down what had happened to him on the previous day and sing about it in a monotone voice, and then Coen Bros. movies, and then Johnny Carson, and then how Flying Dog Doggie Style Pale Ale is like the greatest pale ale ever, and then Robocop, and then Camper Van Beethoven, and then South Park, and then stop-animation as a visual medium, and it just kept going. Iv'e watched the video and I look like a raving idiot. But with great hair.

This video is 30 minutes long. I'm trying to get out ahead of this one.

She is basically blackmailing me at this point.

"Dude, the next time you piss me off, I am posting this and sending links to all my friends."

The digital age. You can't get away with anything.

Wow
That's a lot of ground to cover
I fed the cats today
IMG_20210926_131232.jpg


Watching red zone and making Malaysian chicken and green onion rice with tandoori celery and carrots
 

BrianTL

Member
Maybe let her write it for the change of perspective

Excellent idea. Unfortunately, it's been a firm "No" so far.

She prefers to react, not write. Definitely different beasts.

I'm hoping it could be maybe be me writing while she explains any details I might now know, but we'll see.

:idon'tknow:

It's a big ask
You'll have to ghost write it for her

This was going to be my suggestion as well! It would be a really cool way to tell the story. The way your "vol. 1" ended was screaming for a cut-in of her perspective. Even if you ghost write it! If she would be willing, I think it would work out beautifully.

My confidence is waning evermore these days.

It shouldnt be - you can write!
 

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