Dementia Disturbed

I have no inner voice, he took it from me, Garry Morrison and that damned accident. My car rolled twice, I hit the back of my head and when I awoke in a hospital it was gone, at first I couldn’t even remember my own name, Braden Spear. This did not turn out entirely destructive to me as Garry Morrison wanted. In fact the removal of Citta helped me to reach of state of egolessness. I have been able to communicate by using my skill of thoughtless communication that I learned from a high priestess in Tibet.
My survival put major setback in Morrison’s evil plan. Garry Morrison has been using constant, quiet, random sounding noises to manipulate the subconscious mind of the whole world. Mr. Morrison has been doing this in different manifestations of himself since the time of the pharaohs. He tried to deter me but I will stop Garry Morrison eventually – it is my fate, and my work is to discover exactly how I can stop him. After my discharge from the hospital, he put me back in with a much more elaborate plan.
Two of his minions came to my door; they were armed with drugs and bureaucracy. I was cornered so I went with them peacefully. They took me to an unfamiliar part of the hospital, a part behind locked doors; it was the sphere of Garry Morrison himself. At the time I was not sure of this – it is not Garry Morrison’s style to kidnap and detain.
I was given a room in the hospital. Food and pills were brought to me three times a day by cold hearted nurses, five times a day I was allowed into a contained outdoor area for smoking and once a day I was visited by a man named Dr. Davis. At first Dr. Davis just asked me things about myself. I told him I always knew that I was special; as a kid I told people one day I would write a book and it would be the next Bible. I always made sure not to give details that could be used against me even though it did not seem Garry Morrison was behind my detainment; I was always suspicious. One of my precautions was to not speak of Garry Morrison to anyone; I knew if he was behind this that I should not let out how much I know of him.
At first the pills that were forced on me were the largest of my problems. I know a fair amount about pills and chemicals but these were new to me. Zyprexa and Clozaril were the names on the bottles. I expected them to kill me but they did not. Instead they slowed my mind and helped me to sleep.
As time went on, the nature of my conversations with Dr. Davis changed. When Dr. Davis and I talked about my past he had the nerve to correct me on some details.
“Your passport shows no record of you leaving the country” he said to me once when I was telling him about my exploits in Israel.
In other scenarios he would question my arguments. I was of course always correct in what I was saying but he wanted me to explain it without using hyperlogic. I started to get to like Dr. Davis after the first week in the hospital. No visitors were allowed and the nurses had not warmed up to me yet so he became my only friend.
Dr. Davis, being only a psychiatrist, never understood hyperlogic so I began explaining things to him without it. Because the pills slowed my mind I started using regular logic on a regular basis; it takes less mental energy.
As the second week rolled around things seemed to look up for me. The nurses started treating me like a human being. At the time being able to talk to the nurses was very important to me. I had talked to no one but Dr. Davis for a long time and hearing other views was interesting. I gave serious thought to the things that the nurses would say.
On the second weekend of my detainment I realized that I had hardly thought of Garry Morrison or other higher things all week. When I told him, Dr. Davis congratulated me on this.
“Good job Braden, you have made excellent progress in controlling your confabulations.” He had said to me.
“Confabulations?” I asked
“Yes Braden, like your supposed journey to Israel or Tibet –the things we have been talking about for the last two weeks”
Supposed journey? Had I not really gone to Israel or Tibet? If I did then how did I get there? I have no memory of the trip yet I know I was there. Or was I? All these questions filled my mind. I began considering that I might not have made any such journey. What implications were there if this was true? It would only mean that I could not use my Tibetan martial arts on Garry Morrison if I ever came into combat with him.
The answer dropped into my head. Garry Morrison does not exist; nothing I perceive to have accomplished throughout my life had actually taken place – I need to fundamentally change my life goals.
I desperately needed a cigarette. I was not on a cigarette break but the nurses trusted me enough that they did not even ask when I went to the contained outdoor smoking area. I am twenty four, I dropped out of high school, I have no skills and my nemesis Garry Morrison does not exist; my life is a waste. I looked down at my wrist. In doing so saw the scar on the inside of my hand from the car accident.
Something clicked in my brain. Without hyperlogic I could not see it before but now I understood what was happening to me. I was in the accident, the scar proved that. In the accident I hit my head. This is why my memory of things is faulty in parts. Garry Morrison had failed at killing me in the accident so he was doing the next best thing: he was using mind control (a classic Morrison tactic). He was trying to get me to become a regular person. A regular person who could not stop his evil plans. After two weeks of mental treatment Morrison could get anyone to believe anything.
The decision to flee the hospital came quickly although the option had always been open. I removed my shirt and threw it to the top of the chain link fence that walled off the smoking area. The shirt got caught on the top of the fence so I pulled myself up by the sleeve and was over the wall. Once over I ran as fast as I could. I conquered my delusions of mediocrity and was free to fulfill my destiny and stop Garry Morrison.