Saint Billie Joe: American Stigmatic, chapter 1
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"Well that's it for today Mr. Armstrong," the Psychiatrist stood up from his chair. "I'll see you next week."
His patient walked out of the office door slowly with an annoyed look on his face.
"Yeh," he said quickly with a sigh as he kicked imaginary dirt.
"You know Billie Joe, you won't stop seeing me until I'm positive that you're state of Dysthymia is over. And since you've been seeing me for the past four months and we've made vary little progress, it's doubtful that you'll ever stop seeing me."
Billie leaned against the wood molding and played with his sweatshirt sleeve, not making eye contact with the doctor. "Yeah I know, and you tell me that every fucking week." Billie folded his arms, still not looking at the doctor, he backed out of the office and into the hallway "So why don't you just give me the Prozac like a normal shrink, and yet us both go on with lives?"
The doctor turned the office room lights off and shut the door behind him. "Because I think that there are other things that could work better on you then a pill."
"Like what?" Billie snickered.
The doctor shrugged as the two of them walked down the hall to the reception desk area. "Well, some people with depression find that believing in something higher then ones' self gives them the strength to over come it."
Billie chuckled and gave the psychiatrist a dissatisfied look, "Sorry, I don't do religion anymore."
"Anymore?" the doctor asked, unable to conceive the idea that his 19-year-old patient could have been "religious"
"Yeah . . . I was born Catholic, I was baptized, received my first communion and was even confirmed, but me and that . . . 'being in the sky' had some difference of opinion on certain things." Billie turned away from the doctor and opened the door leading out of the building.
"Well, either way Billie, you have to do something if want to move on with you life, you have to recover."
Billie rolled his eyes and walked out of the office building and down the steps to the moist night street as rain started falling. Billie zipped up his black sweatshirt jacket and pulled the hood over his head. Going into his pocket he took out a cigarette, lit it and took a long stress filled drag. He leaned up against a brick wall and rolled up his jacket sleeves and stared at the thick, long scars going down his wrists.
*
Billie entered the small, rundown apartment he called home and was greeted by the stench of cigarette and pot smoke and ravings of his friends and roommates Mike and Tré, who were deeply into a game of Mortal Kombat on their recently purchased Super Nintendo.
"Hey Billie. How'd your time with the shrink go?" Mike asked, lifting himself from his then upside down position on the couch.
"Was it a total buzz-kill?" asked Tré as he slid down the couch back board, sitting himself on the cushion.
Billie plopped himself down on the couch between the two of them and groaned, "It was brutal man. It sucked." Billie leaned back and ran his fingers stressfully though his short, dread locked black hair. "I don't even know why I go there anymore, it's not really accomplishing anything by sending me there except taking money we don't have. And it's not like I'm trying to kill myself anymore." Billie sarcastically chuckled," But the more I have to sit and talk to that fucking chump-ass shrink the more I wanna do it."
"Well, he obviously doing his job well," Mike said sarcastically, "Here, get your mind of it." Mike tossed his controller at Billie. "Besides, Tré's seriously owning my ass right now, and we all know you're the master of this game, so you can kick his sorry ass no problem."
"You know what Mike," Tré stood up on the couch victoriously, "Why don't you just admit defeat like a man and surrender to my all-powerful gaming skills, 'ya pussy?" Tré said with a smart-ass look on his face.
"Why don't you...shut the fuck up," Mike responded, chucking the remote at Tré. The remote smacked him in the face making him lose his balance and fall back words off the couch and on to the floor, causing him to unhook the game console from the tv.
"Well since the games over," Tré said with a shrug as he promptly got back up again as though nothing had happened, " I'm gonna go munch on some grind-age," Tré gleefully declared as in sprinted to the refrigerator.
Billie chuckled lightly then sighed. Mike turned towards him and looked at him compassionately,
"'Ya know BJ, me and Tré are here for you. You don't have to deal with this alone."
Billie looked back at Mike and smiled, "Yeah, I know." Billie paused, he slid over to Mike and put his arm around Mike's shoulder and lowered his head, "I know you guys are here for me." Billie looked back up at Mike and then kissed him. A few seconds later Tré came back with a bag of chips and soda, he sat back down, seeing what was going on between Billie and Mike sparked a memory in his head.
"Hey Billie," Tré took a gulp of his soda, "Your beloved Girlfriend Adrienne called while you were at the doctors, she wants to talk to you about her coming out here to visit you or some shit like that." Tré shot Billie a questioning look and asked bluntly, "Does she mind the fact that you swap spit with dudes?" Billie shrugged and leaned back,
"Nah, she knows I'm Bisexual. She knows I make out with guys, but she doesn't care." Billie stood up from the couch and stretched. "Anyway, right now I'm tired and I have a headache, I'm going to sleep." Billie walked away from the couch and down the short hallway in to the bed room.
There were three mattresses, one for each of them, on the floor were piles of clothes and random beer and soda bottles. Billie trudged slowly over to his bed; he plopped down on it, removed his jacket and threw it into the huge pile of clothes. Billie studied his scars in minute detail, feeling them over and again as memories form the night he made them flooded his head; his feelings of helplessness, the stinging pain from the razor, the release as blood seeped from his wrists...the panic after realizing what he had done.
Tears started to well up in his eyes. Then everything went quite, like the eerie calm before a storm. The sound of Tré and Mike yelling at the blaring tv, the sound of cars going bye, speakers pumping out bass-filled rap music, even Billie's own thoughts could not be heard.
"Conspicit tui servus, fluis cum sanguis," a whispered, soft, almost inaudible voice entered Billie's ears. Then suddenly, He was forcefully pulled back word on to the mattress, he struggled to be released from the thing holding him. As he struggled, his arms were spread out. Flashes of arms having nails driven though them went though his mind as sharp, agonizing pain went though his wrists. Billie screamed out in pain as the attack stopped and he passed out.
ike and Tré, who somehow were able to hear the screaming, ran into the room to find Billie sprawled across the bed motionless, his wrists pouring blood.
His patient walked out of the office door slowly with an annoyed look on his face.
"Yeh," he said quickly with a sigh as he kicked imaginary dirt.
"You know Billie Joe, you won't stop seeing me until I'm positive that you're state of Dysthymia is over. And since you've been seeing me for the past four months and we've made vary little progress, it's doubtful that you'll ever stop seeing me."
Billie leaned against the wood molding and played with his sweatshirt sleeve, not making eye contact with the doctor. "Yeah I know, and you tell me that every fucking week." Billie folded his arms, still not looking at the doctor, he backed out of the office and into the hallway "So why don't you just give me the Prozac like a normal shrink, and yet us both go on with lives?"
The doctor turned the office room lights off and shut the door behind him. "Because I think that there are other things that could work better on you then a pill."
"Like what?" Billie snickered.
The doctor shrugged as the two of them walked down the hall to the reception desk area. "Well, some people with depression find that believing in something higher then ones' self gives them the strength to over come it."
Billie chuckled and gave the psychiatrist a dissatisfied look, "Sorry, I don't do religion anymore."
"Anymore?" the doctor asked, unable to conceive the idea that his 19-year-old patient could have been "religious"
"Yeah . . . I was born Catholic, I was baptized, received my first communion and was even confirmed, but me and that . . . 'being in the sky' had some difference of opinion on certain things." Billie turned away from the doctor and opened the door leading out of the building.
"Well, either way Billie, you have to do something if want to move on with you life, you have to recover."
Billie rolled his eyes and walked out of the office building and down the steps to the moist night street as rain started falling. Billie zipped up his black sweatshirt jacket and pulled the hood over his head. Going into his pocket he took out a cigarette, lit it and took a long stress filled drag. He leaned up against a brick wall and rolled up his jacket sleeves and stared at the thick, long scars going down his wrists.
*
Billie entered the small, rundown apartment he called home and was greeted by the stench of cigarette and pot smoke and ravings of his friends and roommates Mike and Tré, who were deeply into a game of Mortal Kombat on their recently purchased Super Nintendo.
"Hey Billie. How'd your time with the shrink go?" Mike asked, lifting himself from his then upside down position on the couch.
"Was it a total buzz-kill?" asked Tré as he slid down the couch back board, sitting himself on the cushion.
Billie plopped himself down on the couch between the two of them and groaned, "It was brutal man. It sucked." Billie leaned back and ran his fingers stressfully though his short, dread locked black hair. "I don't even know why I go there anymore, it's not really accomplishing anything by sending me there except taking money we don't have. And it's not like I'm trying to kill myself anymore." Billie sarcastically chuckled," But the more I have to sit and talk to that fucking chump-ass shrink the more I wanna do it."
"Well, he obviously doing his job well," Mike said sarcastically, "Here, get your mind of it." Mike tossed his controller at Billie. "Besides, Tré's seriously owning my ass right now, and we all know you're the master of this game, so you can kick his sorry ass no problem."
"You know what Mike," Tré stood up on the couch victoriously, "Why don't you just admit defeat like a man and surrender to my all-powerful gaming skills, 'ya pussy?" Tré said with a smart-ass look on his face.
"Why don't you...shut the fuck up," Mike responded, chucking the remote at Tré. The remote smacked him in the face making him lose his balance and fall back words off the couch and on to the floor, causing him to unhook the game console from the tv.
"Well since the games over," Tré said with a shrug as he promptly got back up again as though nothing had happened, " I'm gonna go munch on some grind-age," Tré gleefully declared as in sprinted to the refrigerator.
Billie chuckled lightly then sighed. Mike turned towards him and looked at him compassionately,
"'Ya know BJ, me and Tré are here for you. You don't have to deal with this alone."
Billie looked back at Mike and smiled, "Yeah, I know." Billie paused, he slid over to Mike and put his arm around Mike's shoulder and lowered his head, "I know you guys are here for me." Billie looked back up at Mike and then kissed him. A few seconds later Tré came back with a bag of chips and soda, he sat back down, seeing what was going on between Billie and Mike sparked a memory in his head.
"Hey Billie," Tré took a gulp of his soda, "Your beloved Girlfriend Adrienne called while you were at the doctors, she wants to talk to you about her coming out here to visit you or some shit like that." Tré shot Billie a questioning look and asked bluntly, "Does she mind the fact that you swap spit with dudes?" Billie shrugged and leaned back,
"Nah, she knows I'm Bisexual. She knows I make out with guys, but she doesn't care." Billie stood up from the couch and stretched. "Anyway, right now I'm tired and I have a headache, I'm going to sleep." Billie walked away from the couch and down the short hallway in to the bed room.
There were three mattresses, one for each of them, on the floor were piles of clothes and random beer and soda bottles. Billie trudged slowly over to his bed; he plopped down on it, removed his jacket and threw it into the huge pile of clothes. Billie studied his scars in minute detail, feeling them over and again as memories form the night he made them flooded his head; his feelings of helplessness, the stinging pain from the razor, the release as blood seeped from his wrists...the panic after realizing what he had done.
Tears started to well up in his eyes. Then everything went quite, like the eerie calm before a storm. The sound of Tré and Mike yelling at the blaring tv, the sound of cars going bye, speakers pumping out bass-filled rap music, even Billie's own thoughts could not be heard.
"Conspicit tui servus, fluis cum sanguis," a whispered, soft, almost inaudible voice entered Billie's ears. Then suddenly, He was forcefully pulled back word on to the mattress, he struggled to be released from the thing holding him. As he struggled, his arms were spread out. Flashes of arms having nails driven though them went though his mind as sharp, agonizing pain went though his wrists. Billie screamed out in pain as the attack stopped and he passed out.
ike and Tré, who somehow were able to hear the screaming, ran into the room to find Billie sprawled across the bed motionless, his wrists pouring blood.
