The Diary of an Authentic American Psycho

Hello, hi, salutations, whatever you like to say.  My name, for purposes you will see as you read, will not be mentioned at any point in this text.  Whenever my real name is to be used Ill just use one of my many, many aliases.  This story is mine, the story of me however touching, or tragic you want to call it.  I just say I have more drama in my life than most teenage girls.  Sad part is, is that I don’t even want it.  Most of my life seems as though it should be in a Hollywood style movie.  So why don’t I make a movie, well I can’t make a movie, truth be told I don’t think that I can write either but my high school English teacher thinks otherwise so here I am. Typing away at my shitty dell laptop trying to belt out even semi comical gags so as not to put you esteemed readers into boredom induced coma.  This story has very little Dialogue.  I can’t write dialogue, so I really wont try, I don’t remember most of the conversations really anyway.  Also I have heard that I am very blunt.  I don’t give a fuck and I hope you don’t either.



To effectively tell you about the person I am I gotta give you a little background.  I was born on December 31st 1987 in a small little town in the middle of nowhere.  Nowhere of course being another name for North Dakota , and the small little town being Bismarck .  My parents moved there shortly after getting married and if you can believe it Bismarck North Dakota was a step up from where they were before that.  Honestly what kind of sick fuck names a town Dickinson, for you slightly slower individuals let me enunciate, Dick-in-son!  That’s even more fucked up then the Michael Jackson shit, at least he did it with someone else’s son.



My parents are good, honest, hardworking people that love each other very much.  You don’t hear it often anymore, but they were high school sweethearts.  My dad was a basketball player, and my mom was a cheerleader.  Sounds like a perfect situation, but they had problems just like every other couple, and to this day they remind me of it every chance they get.  “We worked so hard to get food on the table and clothes on your back…”  I usually space out after this and also to this day have never heard the whole speech.



My mom had a rough childhood.  She was a wild child growing up in a catholic home.  She went to catholic school, and went to church everyday.  She also was a chain smoking, bar fighter who had the drinking capacity of an Irish sailor before she was eighteen.  She got decent grades in school and really irritated her parents.  I have heard grandpa say on many occasions he would rather take the other five and raise them again then have to raise my mother again.



My father grew up on a farm.  He worked hard and attended public school.  He was a real ladies man, not that he knew what to say and do around women, but women always wanted him to be there man; I think he was prom king.  Working on a farm he was always lifting heavy shit, and running all over.  This developed him into an exceptional athlete.  His Basketball team made it to the state semifinals where they lost, and of course it was the coach’s fault.  He also ran track and until his brother broke it in 87; he had the state track record as fastest runner.  His older sister still in 2008 has the distance jump record.



My dad went to college a year before my mom and studied to be an auto tech.  I found out later in life that he went home every weekend and only told his parents about it once or twice, creepy.  My dad’s sophomore year my mom went with him and despite being a year behind finished her two year degree and graduated with him.  They got married in June of 1985 and have sort of lived happily ever after.



Another important person to note is my Mom’s brother, and the best man in there wedding, and my future godfather.  He is the source of all my information about my parents when I was still a sperm, and don’t remember much.  Good guy, but he has had many misfortunes in his life, the first of which was going to catholic school where he fits in about as well as a person from queens does at the Beverly Hills country club.  At my confirmation, we were worried lightning was going to shoot out of the cross and hit him, no joke.



Then there’s me I came along in 1987, doesn’t matter if it is the end of 87 or not because I was still my fathers little tax break.  I like to think that angels flew down and played trumpets, and that some cool astronomical event happened.  I believe this because I don’t remember and if I don’t ask anyone no one can tell me I’m wrong.  Didn’t really do much, devoted much of my time to shitting, drooling, and crying.  Then eventually less crying, then shitting, and finally drooling.  This pattern pretty much continues until 1992.



In March of 1992 my momma spit out a second kid.  A sister who was destined from the beginning to be my parent’s favorite.  Anyone who has ever had a younger sibling knows what Im talking about.  She is a great sister however.  She is very intelligent and for the life of me will not stay away from boys!!!!!



After that it was time for me to start school, and the whole educational process.  My kindergarten teacher was a nice lady named Mrs. W.  I remember her name being about twenty syllables sounding remotely similar to Wychaknroishinfrentoreenomerenogalofenoseferonemy, or something like that.  I never liked listening to her and doing what she told me to do.  I recall on St. Nicholas day I refused to put my shoe in the hall because I was afraid that the classroom would smell like feet.  Hated my first grade teacher, really hated the fact that my mother made friends with my second grade teacher, hated my third grade teacher with a passion, hated that my second grade teacher got bumped to fourth grade just in time for me to be in her class again, and then we moved.



We upgraded from a small house in the inner suburbs to a large house in the outer suburbs.  In all honesty I am in that house right now writing this.  My mother worked really hard keeping the old house clean for showing after showing hoping that someone would buy our house.  Dad did what he could but he always had to work, and wasn’t around much.  The house sold and I remember on closing day that all our friends and relatives showed up to help.  The process took about two months during which time my mother took me and my sister to our old school so we wouldn’t have to switch schools in the middle of the year.



Fifth Grade was nothing.  Sixth grade had something noteworthy; I passed out in class and was medically diagnosed with Viso Vagel Syncope.  Basically it causes my heart to get tired and take a break; go figure my heart is as lazy as I am.



Seventh grade was boring and nothing good happened.  Eighth grade I passed out again, it happened after my first fight that I had ever been in, and I got my ass whooped.  I staggered into the locker room after practice and got jumped.  Afterward I remember crying to myself and then blackness; I had passed out and woke up not long after feeling just fine.  I hurried out cause my mom was waiting to pick me up, and after looking at my black eye; immediately freaked out and told the school.  This helped my nerd rep.  Basically I was a book worm who spent all his time studying.  Every year that I was in middle school I made the 5000 page club awarded to those who read 5000 pages.  I was only on the football team to try and fit in, I failed.



Finally I was in high school.  Bound and determined to never do anything illegal like drink or do drugs or anything like that.  I worked hard on my academics for the first semester and received exemplary marks.  I never had many friends except for the stoners who didn’t really notice that I was really there in the first place.  I knew that they were doing illegal things but I was a loyal friend and never ratted them out, even when I found them selling on school grounds though I considered it.  Not doing so would turn out to be a gigantic pivoting point in my life.


My fifteenth birthday could by any and all accounts be the day that I was born.  Everything changed so much in a matter of a couple hours that it was hard to keep up.  I think that this was the day that I did all the growing up one does in there entire lifetime, all the life experience that one accumulates acquired in a very simple and will full act.  The kind of thing a person does and then cries about later.



My stoner friends and me were walking the city streets very late at night, probably morning by now.  I was buzzing like a hive and loving every minute of it.  The bottle, my first, hanging loosely in my hand as I took small sips of the flame that was inside.  That beautiful nectar known as Jack Daniels old time number seven brand quality Tennessee sour mash whiskey.  To this day I have never been able to turn a bottle down, and have been known to put down whole liters in a half hour.  The weed in my system, also a first, making brilliant shapes and interesting patterns before me.  Yes I was enjoying my birthday.



One good thing about having stoner friends is that they know people who can get illegal things, so when I told them it would be cool to go to a club they thought that they could help me out.  We got in no problem through the back, and were never questioned by the bouncers there.  I have always looked a little old for my age and though I probably didn’t look eighteen, I probably looked seventeen and that was enough to keep them wondering but not asking.



I flirted with girls that I had no chance with, and got rejected just like I thought I would.  All in all it was a good time. The New Years Eve party at the shamrock was always talked about, and the fact that it was my birthday just accentuated the effect.  The music was killer; I was never much for the techno, and hip hop that was and still is extremely popular.  But Shamrock plays rock and roll in all its many forms.  Everything from Nirvana to Metallica filled the hall, and when the DJ played Dropkick Murphy the place erupted.



After killing a few hours the boys took me around back and started smoking.  They offered me some, and though I initially rejected them, decided to try it.  I didn’t really like it at first but it grew on me.  Then the leader, named Tony, offered me a birthday present. It was a bottle of Jack Daniels old time number seven brand quality Tennessee sour mash whiskey.  I tried it and didn’t really like it at first but it grew on me…quickly.  Seeing that I wasn’t going back in till the bottle was finished we decided to take a walk.



The city at night downtown was a light spectacle, especially on holidays.  We walked and Tony kept answering his cell phone and changing direction.  I didn’t think much of it until we had been walking for about two hours, and were in a slum.



The whole neighborhood stank like rotten fish, and the pale moon cast an eerie glow off of the slick streets.  Being a newbie I had only finished about a fourth of my whiskey and was starting to lose interest in place of fear of where we were.



“Yo, lets head back to some civilization!”  I said.

“Not yet, I gotta do something quick!” replied Tony who suddenly stopped and stared at a woman walking under a dim street lamp.



The woman had a strikingly beautiful face for the clothes that she was wearing.  It appeared to be a random assortment of rags and a coat.  Her shoes were old and tattered.  She resembled the people that I had seen in pictures from the great Depression.  Yet despite all this her face had a flawless beauty to it that seemed so out of place.  It wasn’t radiant or glowing as I could so easily imagine it being.



Tony told me and the gang to wait where we were on the other side of the street.  He walked over and turned around quickly signaling to one of us to follow him.  I knew he didn’t mean me so I just hung out thinking that he was going to ask the women out and wanted a wing man or something.

       

Dave, another of the crew quickly ran to catch up splashing in a puddle, and breaking the eerie silence of the night.  The woman froze in her tracks and quickly faced the two boys coming to her.  I noticed that she had a bundle over her chest, she wasn’t holding it but it was held there by something of a sash of rags, and it moved.  It was a child.



MILF, was what I remember thinking to stupid to realize what was going to go down in just a minute.  Tony started talking to the woman, I couldn’t make out what he was saying on the other side of the street, but the woman looked absolutely petrified, as if she was about to die.



CLICK, a whole bunch of pieces fell into place in an instant, not the whole puzzle, but definitely the big picture.  All of the sudden my buzz was nowhere to be found, and all I could think about was the woman and her child on the other side of the street.  I tensed up and the guys around me must have realized this because one of them grabbed my arm.  I whipped around to look at him and  he was just shaking his head no.  Like he knew what I was thinking before I even did.  Then I was thinking it but knew not to.  They wouldn’t hurt her would they.  Of course not; you can’t hit a woman.



Then in an instant across the street Tony violently tore the woman’s baby from her in the blink of an eye and threw it through the air.  Then he balled up his fist and delivered a blow to her face that probably broke her nose.  After that it didn’t matter what happened because he was on top of her punching and punching.  All this time I was horrified by what I was seeing, to horrified to notice that Dave had caught the woman’s baby.



Tony kept punching and punching as the lady lay on her back in the snow.  He quit punching the head and started punching her in the breasts.  After a while he stood up, pulled his pants down and on the cold December ground began raping this woman.



I absolutely couldn’t believe what I was seeing this woman’s face was a bloody mess of its former self, and she was clutching her chest in pain, not making a single noise.  Probably not even noticing that Tony was having his way with her.  After a minute or so he stood up and put his pants back on.  Asked for the child, and Dave threw it back.  Dropped it onto the fallen mother and very loudly said “If I have to come back for this I’ll kill you both!”



I was a statue.  I was completely emotionless; even when Tony walked back over grabbed me by the shoulder and told me not to worry about it.  I was in a daze, a trance.  I hadn’t even realized we had started walking when I looked up and we were back at the club.



The boys filed back inside, but Tony held me back.  He lit up a cigarette.  I was still confounded by what I had just seen.  He told me some stereotypical shit along the lines of it doesn’t matter and she got what she deserved yadda yadda ying ying, I wasn’t really paying close attention.



I asked him still in a daze “Why did you do it?” very calmly and still dazed.



I will never forget his response to that question…”Who gives a Fuck?”



“I GIVE A FUCK YOU PAUPACE PIECE OF SHIT!!!!!”  And like that boom everything came into clear focus, the icicles of varying lengths hanging off of the Christmas lights above us.  The empty beer and liquor cases on the ground near the back door of the club.  The breath that I was exhaling taking a non recognizable shape of the flame inside going from a Bic lighter, to mount fuckin Saint Helens .



Like that my fist was behind me ready to go straight through his fucking skull, which it did.  Everything around me was in slow motion, he extended a fist but I blocked it with ease and countered with a kick to his chest.  He hurled over in pain, but still on his feet.  I grabbed the back of his head with both hands, lifted it slightly, and then slammed it down as hard and fast as I could into my rising knee.  The impact was like hitting jelly, I busted his face open with blood and I know I broke a few bones.



He was done, but I wasn’t.  No no the lady had been on the ground and he continued to punch and punch her.  I felt it necessary to extend similar hospitality to Tony.  Break his arm, now the other one.  These were the thoughts that were racing in my head as I continued to hack on him for at least half an hour.



When I was done he looked like a modern art master piece, and I aint no artist.  I’d have thought that he was dead except his chest was going up and down in uneven intervals.  Blood was streaming out of most of his orifices including a few brand new ones.  I had blood on my hands and on my shirt.



I knocked on the back door to the club so someone would come out and see the bloody wreck that once was an evil man, and I took off running.



I ran and I ran for what seemed like forever.  I needed new clothes I thought and started to head for a bar.  Just as I thought there were several people outside that were passed out drunk.  I found one that looked my size and knocked him on the head a few times to make sure he was out.  Satisfied I picked him up over my shoulder and went into the alley, and swapped clothes with him.



Then I went into a gas station to wash my hands.  The funny thing about soap is that it can remove anything with ease, except blood.  The cold air had dried it to my fingers, and it took quite a while to scrub it off.  I cried all the while.  When I left the station the sun was up, and I went to the nearest bus stop and sat down.



One thing jumped into mind; happy New Year.


January 1st 2003.  My mind was more warped than a prude in a gay bar.  My world had completely inverted itself, and even though it was semi warm out, the breath that I drew was colder than death.  I finally made it home at about eight in the morning, and as I figured my parents were fast asleep.  In fact you were hard pressed to find them conscious at any point in time between 10 pm, and whenever they had to go to work.  Only this was a weekend so they got up at nine.



I went to sleep, or to bed and laid there.  I drifted ominously between conscious and unconscious.  This next part I will never forget either fore it was the first time I ever had a nightmare.  In my dream I was kneeling in a large barren wasteland that extended as far as I could see in all directions.  The ground felt like rocks on my knees, yet it soaked in the rain that fell from the black sky.  The moon was extremely visible, pale as death itself, and the rain wasn’t water; it was blood.  The last detail that I remember is a figure moving so far in the distance that I can’t make it out.  It was just pacing back and forth waiting for something.



Having wasted about six hours trying to sleep I abandoned that and watched TV.  You really don’t realize how much violence there is in TV until you don’t want to see it, its pathetic really.  I had to work at five that night so at about four thirty I left and went to Wendys.  Now there’s a job to be proud of.  I had the shittiest positions because I had no seniority and the 7.25 that I was making didn’t stand up to the ridicule that I took for being a Wendy’s employee.



I started my shift as usual but with about an hour until I got off, so about nine, two very large and very unfriendly looking gentlemen came in and sat down.  They didn’t order food they just sat down.  After about a half hour one of them comes up and orders a combo meal and leaves.  The other just continued to sit there and read the paper glancing at his watch from time to time.



I told my manager Sandy, that god awful bitch that deserves every STD known to man but wont get any cause she’s a real 40 year old virgin, that some guy from corporate might be scoping the place out right now.  As assistant managers tend to do she flipped and demanded that I make his life as easy and comfortable as possible.  Blah, I have always hated kissing ass but know when it has to be done.



I went over to the gentleman and offered some water, and asked if he wanted anything to eat.  His reply was a very unhelpful grunt that meant leave me the fuck alone you minimum wage piece of shit.  So I did.



I went about business as usual did my thing, closed the dining room down and got off at like 10:30.  Then something really fucked up happened, I was walking to my car and SMACK!!!!!!!!!!!

The loud smack immediately prompted me to take a nap and I don’t remember much after that.





I was awoken by a sort of…    Smack!!!!!!!!!!!

“Hello, is anyone in there…oh yeah that woke him up.”



It was kind of like getting woken up by your mom for church on Christmas morning only much less pleasant, and without the smell of fresh baked cookies.  I couldn’t see anything, it smelled awful like an industrial wasteland kinda smell, nothing I was hearing was very appealing, and aside from my brain feeling several sizes too big for my head, I felt like complete shit.



There were many voices in the room and the thick aura of booze was nauseating.  I sounded like a party was going on and I was blind folded.  As I slowly began to realize a few things I got pretty scared.  I noticed my feet weren’t touching the ground, which lead me to notice that I was hanging by my shackled arms.  My feet weren’t hanging freely though, I couldn’t move them apart so they had to be taped together or something.  It was a very scary situation, and my heart was racing faster than Dale Earnhardt.



“You seem uncomfortable; let me help you with that.”  I heard a voice say.  I wasn’t that dumb, I figured he wasn’t going to help me.  I didn’t really figure on what did happen though.



CRACK!!!  And boom my chest lit up with a pain so exquisite that the only thing that kept me from crying at the top of my lungs was the rag I just noticed was gagging me.



“Did you like that ya little shit stain?  How bout some more?”



CRACK CRACK CRACK!!!  OMFG.  This incredible burning, stinging, fucking painful sensation enveloped me.  It was like nothing I had ever felt before.  More painful than dipping a nacho in lava and eating it.



“How’d that feel?  You want some more?”

“Uh uh.”  I tried to mumble through my gag rag.  He didn’t really listen.



CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK!!!  More cracks and more intricate and excruciating pain.  I got to say I can kind of joke about it now in retrospect, but I’d rather die than go through it again.



“Tony sends his regards from the hospital and I’m just gonna fill you in now.  You are the entertainment tonight at this party, kind of a human piñata slash punching bag, and you will not be leaving.”  CRACK CRACK CRACK!!!



So let me bring you special people up to speed in case you haven’t quite got it yet.  Tony, the guy I fucked up for raping the women is in the hospital, and these complete strangers are beating the fuck out of me to get even.  Wahoo.



This went on for hour and hours, or so it seemed to me.  More pain, and different pains to.  When the cracking stopped the smacks, or the slams, or the bangs, or even the booms would start and the cycle would eventually go back to cracks again.  Id get light headed, and then they would take a break, but would rub something on what felt like open wounds and I would feel fine again, and then the massacre would continue.  They even injected something into my leg at one point that made my whole chest feel like it was about to explode.  It was an experience.



After what seemed like hours I was finally dropped from the shackles.  They removed whatever was binding my legs and took the gag and the blind fold off.  I couldn’t see anything.  Everything was so bright that I couldn’t make any distinct shapes or identify any object at all.  Some guy shouted “Hit him.”  I felt someone hold me and put another needle in my leg.  I just laid there on the floor.  No one approached me and no one said anything.



My vision slowly collected itself and I could see the ceiling.  It was metal bars under a metal roof.  I could make out the rusty chains hanging from the ceiling that dropped down onto bloody shackles.  I was too tired, exhausted, and hurt to really give a shit about the blood.  Even when I turned my head slightly and saw the pool of blood all around me I didn’t give a shit.  I looked down at my body, and it looked like I’d gone through a meat grinder and come out alive.  It was nasty.  The cracks must have been a whip based on the lashes on my chest and stomach.  The smacks must have been a baseball bat, because a couple of my ribs were slightly protruding from my chest.  The slams must have been the bloody kendo stick that I was half laying on, and I have no idea what caused the booms or the bangs cause I was having a hard time just coping with what I did notice.



“This fuckers boring!  Shaymus, cap this asshole and call it a night.” Someone said.

“Yeah he aint screaming or nothing not like the other ones did,” said another.



I heard some rustling, and then footsteps coming across the concrete floor.  They sounded like bombs going off one at a time.  I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to die when the beating had begun so I really wasn’t to scared and worried.  I slowly started to get up.  Don’t ask me why but I felt compelled to stare my killer in the eye before he killed me.



As I painfully forced myself to my feet some of the people started to whisper to each other.  Also something I didn’t really care about; just something I noticed.



When I finally got up and looked at the guy who was going to kill me, I honestly got a lot more scared than I had been a second ago.  He was about five foot eight with a medium build.  Not hulk strong, but it was obvious that he was no stranger to the gym.  He wore jeans and a black beater.  He had sleeves, the tattoos not actual sleeves, and his hair was a stylized military cut.  The thing I noticed the most was the large gun in his left hand.  It was shiny.



He said “Hey fuck head, why’d you go wasting the energy to get up?”  Then he raised the gun a fired off a round into my shoulder.



“You’ve got a broken leg.  I think you’d be more comfortable on the ground.”  He then shot me in my leg.  That sucked.



I rolled around grabbing at my leg wincing in pain as I did.  It took every fiber of my desire, but I started to get up.  Even more slowly than before, everyone was watching but I continued to rise.



I finally got on my injured legs and once again locked eyes with the guy everyone had called Shaymus.  He took the big shiny gun and put it at my forehead and held it there.  I didn’t flinch even an inch.  I was terrified but I kept staring into his eyes, exploring them, trying to read them and see if anything I would say convince him to not pull that trigger.  I got nothing.



“If you’re going to do it, then fucking do it.”  I didn’t even think of those words.  They just came out as if someone else was speaking through my mouth.  We just kept staring and finally he lowered the gun.



“I got a wager for you.  A test really.  My friend is going to give you something that might make it a little hard to sleep tonight.  I’ll put you in your own room, and I’ll check on you in the morning.  If you survive, we’ll take you to a doctor and get you fixed up, if you die than you’ll be in the same position that you should be right now.  What do ya say?”  he asked.



I thought about it.  Minimal chance of survival versus no chance of survival would seem like a no brainer to most people, but after the hell they just put me through I wasn’t sure if adding to my torment was even worth the possibility of life.  Yeah it was that bad.  Then again it also can’t be any worse than what I had just gone through.



“Alright, you gotta deal.”



Good was his only word before someone pushed me from behind and we left the room.  I couldn’t move very fast but my chauffer didn’t care.  He made sure I did move fast.  We moved down halls taking random turns, so I couldn’t track where we had gone.



He finally opened a door for me and pushed me in, and closed the door.  The room was to dark to see anything so I really couldn’t even look around.



The man returned a few minutes later with a loaded syringe attached to like a four inch needle!  I don’t do needles.  He pushed aside my pathetic resistance and shoved the whole needle into the top of my ear.



Then he just packed his stuff slammed something on a counter and closed the door.  I heard a faint click signaling that he locked that door.  I thought this is weird.  I don’t really feel anything except a slight burn at the injection sight.



After about a minute it hit me like a freight train.  My head was fucking exploding, and it was imploding, and it was fucking stretching in all directions.  It was so much worse than what I had experienced at the party shackled.  I started running around the room frantically smashing my head into things.  Not on purpose though.  This was completely involuntary.  I hated it, and emotionally I started remembering every moment in my entire life that I’d been sad or lonely, and afraid.  It was hell in my mind and to this day I have no idea what was in that syringe.



I finally got something of a hold on myself and slowly felt myself to a corner in the room.  I got in the fetal position and closed my eyes.  I waited allowing my mind to go to whatever horrible memory it brought up.  My grandpa dying, my grandmothers stroke, when my dad hurt his back and couldn’t get out of bed.  I just laid there forcing myself to stay as still as possible.



I did this for many many hours.  Until finally the door opened and someone entered the room.  This person walked over to me and checked my pulse.  I was completely aware of it, but to scared to move or make any sound.



“Get him to a doctor, he’s alive, he passed.  Just have’em charge it to me.”

“No problem,” Replied a second voice.



They stuck a syringe in my arm and that was it…lights out.