"A Broken Man"
Written by Lukifer Dredd
Actually written by blitzdoughnuts

Licensed under CC0; you may do whatever you want.

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Personal Journal
August 24, 2024

After the nightmare I put up with a few months back at that god-forsaken hospital, I've really been paying attention to my own well-being. Okay well I would less say my well-being, and more just making sure I don't go completely insane. I se my time at the Limetown Hospital before it.. well, "vanished", as a learning experience. It reminded me of a terrible thing stuck in my head, but for the longest time now I can't seem to understand it.

No matter who I talk to, no matter what I do, this thing is just here, stuck with me, as if it's ingrained in my conscience. I've discussed this mostly with my psychiatrist, and sometimes Richie, and all of those times I at least feel like I'm taking footsteps to the goal, even if it may be to no avail.

In retrospect, I notice that social interaction is very volatile for me. Sometimes, especially around Richie and other people I can trust, I'm perfectly fine for my kind of person. Other times, not so much. I fear I may have bloodied a man over something minute, yet I can't recall it cohesively enough. But one common thing I noticed for about half of the times I became emotionally unstable was over a sense of control.

I think I have a control complex; I want to be able to control my life, control what I do, probably even control others should I find a need to. I vividly remember one time where I was once working as a guard for an institution almost as if it happened last week.

I was standing my position in the parlor, next to a hallway leading to an art gallery. The potted plants were about sunflower-tall and were purple to the likes of what these people call grape candy. Two people were having a calm discussion, one of them had a big black coat and the other I know was in blue fabric pants. Over time, I noticed their talking became quarreling, which became near-shouting. Eventually, the blue-legged assailant slugged the big coated man with an iron fist.

I remember my training; I immediately shout at the attacker, pacing menacingly. He didn't seem fazed. I kept telling him about the consequence of him whipping the innocent coat-donner and periodically attempting threats, but he continually did not care. I quickly became fed up, and dropped my issued baton to lunge into him.

I didn't even pepper-spray him, I immediately went to punching his face in. I remember the feeling of it, continuously jamming my fist into various locations on his head, slamming his skull against the marble flooring, my legs feeling his futile resistance. I hit him so bad that the front of my balled hand was but a fine red, smoothing its way into the yellow of my fur. The mug of the man was a mangled mess, I think I incapacitated him.

As I rose from my single-handed beatdown, only then did I notice everyone staring at me. The victim of the initial slapping was now mortified by my red-drenched physique, and onlookers nearby gazed similarly, a few of them were pointing these sort of board-like devices at me with a little dot on the upper back of them like cameras. Even the guard previously perpendicular to me was shocked; they didn't even try detaining me. Unusually, I didn't even mind anyone looking. I felt pleased with myself, almost liberated, like I finally accomplished something greatera.

Honestly I'm surprised I remember not just what I did, but how I felt, because during that whole thing I was completely livid. It must've been something he said to me that struck a nerve or two to hurl me into almost committing murder. I say almost only because I remember he was still breathing, and I saw him ocassionally afterwards, but he seems scared of me.

Come to think of it, I think I know what he said. Something like "you can't do shit, pig"? This was also around the time I didn't have any anger management assistance or psychiatric medication, so I can see how that would happen. Hell, I sometimes get like that now, but I tend to stop myself from making someone's face or body resemble the brick walls of the buildings in town thankfully.

And the thing I still don't get is how I didn't get in trouble for it.