2A: XX_Progress Notes_210914

Patient Progress Notes
Date: 09/14/21	Therapist:	Facility:
Patient:	Age:	◻ Female ☑ Male
Session length: 15 min	◻ No Session: _________________
Treatment Issue: Re-assessment
Symptoms observed during session:
◻ aggression (physical) ☑ aggression (verbal) ☑ agitation ☑ anger ◻ anhedonia ◻ anxiety/fear ◻ appetite disturbance ☑ danger to others ◻ danger to self ◻ decreased energy/fatigue ◻ delusions	◻ depressed ◻ distractibility ◻ emotional lability ◻ feelings of worthlessness ◻ hallucinations (auditory) ◻ hallucinations (visual) ◻ hopelessness/ helplessness ◻ impulsivity ☑ irritability ◻ negative statements	☑ noncompliance (medical care) ☑ restlessness ☑ sad/pained/ worried expression ◻ self deprecation ◻ sleep disturbance ☑ socially inappropriate ◻ social withdrawal ◻ suicidal ideation or plan ◻ thought disorder ◻ other: ◻ other:
Diagnoses: Undetermined
Intervention strategies implemented and session focus or theme: Re-assessment of functioning following therapeutic disruption.
Patient Response:	◻ Marked improvement ◻ Some improvement	◻ Same functioning ☑ Symptoms worsening
Evidence of patient response: Patient asked therapist to leave, using obscene language. Threatened severe bodily harm. Assessment incomplete. Prior treatment appears to have been ineffective.
Future treatment/Follow-up: Patient’s history is unique. Requires nuanced approach. Therapist to follow-up with senior leadership regarding next steps.
Signature of therapist/title:

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2B: Heart Of Darkness Nulla: Pokeball Edition





Time for another treatment, eh?

Maybe another game? Wrinkly Old Bitch! I choose you!

Huh… nothing happened? Story of your life.

Wait… am I saying this aloud or in my head?

Better get my bearings! Let’s see… spooky darkness on the right; spooky darkness on the left (not that spooky); spooky darkness up above; spooky darkness down below. Way below. All. The. Way. Down. Below. Me. The murky murk underneath the misty mist at the bottom of the mounty mount. Okay… that last one doesn’t work. Kind of like the other faces of Lou, actually.


Must be some creepy mind shit. I bet I’m about to find some super secret evil within! Oh boy! Thanks Lou!

But my mind games HA! tend to be a lot more… err… colourful than this. Where are all the magical silhouettes battling evil demons in some sort of dumbfuck, overdrawn metaphor that people are still somehow buying into? Aren’t I supposed to be a fucking fraud?

Oh… I get it! I’m learning about myself! Wowza! Who needs Lou when you can have this deep, dark FUCKING NOTHING? Speaking of… where the fuck are the lights?


I stumble, relatively unimpeded aside from my own clutz, through the pitch black towards the edge of the room. My hands find cold concrete and start padding their way around. The wall is… curved? I follow it along as it seems to wrap around like a really fucking uncomfortable blanket that also isn’t like a blanket at all. Maybe a tire tube, filled up by little ol’ air-headed me?

Tapping up and down the walls, the curvature of the wall continues, and my mind tries to fill in the blanks, rounding it out into a near-sphere. The dark doesn’t reveal its secrets though. That’s fine. I’ll just stay here, stewing in my introspection. Stuck in this hole in the earth.


I bleed back into the centre of the room.

“Ow!” I wince, as I smack my hip on the side of… something. What is that?

My hands are my torch once again as they run themselves across the surface of what feels like a rectangular, steel table. With careful probes, I find the outline of a chair, and for whatever reason decide to shift myself into it. Sitting. In the darkness.

What the fuck am I doing here? What happened?

I try to cast my mind backwards. I remember exploring different doorways, but that… that was just some more of that metaphysical nonsense. Wasn’t it?

The white door. I remember going through the white door. And then…

BANG!

“Shit!” I exclaim, my ungloved left hand shooting straight to my forehead. Nothing. It’s dry. I check my chest. Still nothing. That’s good, I think. No hole. But… FUCK! There is a hole, in a sense.

The baby is missing!

Again I surge to my feet. In a panic, I race throughout the stupid void, breaking down a certain number of walls that shouldn’t even exist. There’s only one, remember!

Fuck, get it together, man! There's a child at stake!


No, no, there definitely is.


Right?!


Centre.


Cut it out, dumbfuck brain! There's no time for that shit! If you're not going to paint some technicolour battlefields around some stupid surrealist altars, then you're really not fucking helping!

Shit. Am I losing it again? When did I even find it?

How long…

How long have I been in here? Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to smell. Nothing to taste. When did I last eat? Drink? Shit? Cum? How long have I been deprived of all senses?

No.

Not all.

I can touch.

The concrete. The steel. The cold.

I can touch.

I can feel.

The air itself bristles the hairs at the base of my neck and around my wrist. I can feel shifts in its flow. These movements weren't there before but now they’ve grown from imperceptible to nearly overwhelming in the flash of a second.

I can feel something coming. I can feel her! The child!

Deep inside I feel… everything.


On this day. Every promise came to be. I’m going to be okay. I have willed it that way. You’ll see. The universe is rooting for me.

For me.


And I…

The fire that snuffed the flames.

I am the torch.

And so the dark recedes.

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2C: Survivors

My suspicions of the room are confirmed as light pastes across the singular walled surface. The curve actually bends its way right up to the very top, turning the room into more of a cement dome, and the floor area is much smaller than I had envisioned. It’s almost a perfect ball. And me… the poor, hapless, enslaved critter within. Exactly what I’ve been fighting against for ten or eleven months now.

Wait…

Creature…

Ball…

I am the fire.

This isn’t another one of those extended metaphors is it?

Oh my! It’s almost like that’s entirely the point.


I hear her cries.

I am the fire. But I’m not the source of the light.

Whipping my head to the open door, I see the girl swaddled in a white blanket, her voice ripping around the chamber. The man holding her steps into the room, smiling as he looks down at her crying face; positively beaming as he looks up to mine.

“Put her down!” I bellow, and leap into action. Literally. The table between us is cleared in a single bound and in a split second I’m almost upon him. But mere inches away from ripping out his gangly throat, I stop. As fast as I had encroached on him, he had spun the girl around and now had her hanging by the foot from an extended arm. My eyes flicked to her crying face as she dangled head-first over the solid ground.

“That’s what I thought,” Kieran King says, with a grin that could eat more shit than Chris Page’s. “I’m gonna need you to go ahead and take a seat, ‘kay?”

He nods towards the table and the chair that I had felt in the dark earlier. There are two of the seats, opposite each other on the furthest edges of the steel rectangle. I grit my teeth and look him in the eye, but nothing is there. My tongue rolls along my lips as I comply.


From my seat I watch Kieran as he slinks up to the table. He chuckles as he tickles the crying child’s tummy, holding her upright once again. One of the more disconcerting things about the image is how comfortable he actually looks holding her. Like he had done it before, many times. That’s something that I don’t want to think further about.

He settles into the chair and for a moment, the two of us just stare. Not at each other, not this time. At her. I see her brown, tear-clogged eyes looking at me, pleading for help.

“She’s got a set of lungs on her, doesn’t she?” he says, as he brings his focus up to me. His accent is subtle, after the years he spent in a Balinese prison. That… that explains a lot actually. That was the last time that I saw him. Tommy Romeo had helped me find him, under the pretense of answers. But no answers were given, just more questions. Like…

“What the fuck do you want?” I ask. He laughs in response. The corner of my eye keeps a half-focus on the movement of the girl. She continues to cry. As she does so, my mind continues to wander to that day in the prison. Betsy Granger saved me at the last minute, just as… “Is she here?”

“She’s right here!” He points towards the child.

“Not her,” I growl. And I don’t mean Betsy either. In a courtyard near the centre of the prison, the inmates had come to see what was thought to be the final confrontation. At that moment, the doctor arrived. My ‘Angel’. She who dots the memories of my yesterday. She, from whom I claimed the dagger. She…

“Oh!” Kieran feigns recollection. “Her!”

He knows exactly who I’m talking about.

“Yeah, she’s here somewhere,” he says.

“I want to see her,” I reply, flatly.

“Yeah… nah.” There’s the accent, hidden in the colloquialisms. The statement alone probably wouldn’t even make sense to some nationalities. “She’s given me free reign with you, bro.”

“Why?” I ask, keeping my sentences short.

“Because I do damn good work! Don’t I, kid?” he coochie-coos towards the child again.

“So, what?” This is going to be a risky statement, I know. I need to play it cool. Keeping a lid on my temper is not something that I’m very good at, but I need to do it in order to protect the kid. Still… “You’re just a lapdog for them now?”

He leans forward over the table and leers at me from behind those dead blue eyes. The child’s face disappears beyond the edge of the table.

“I’m a survivor.”

…

…

…

…

…

“Yeah, well, fuck your survival,” I spit.

“Nah, man, you don’t fucking get it.” He leans back once more, and the sternness of his face softens. A smirk creeps across it as he mockingly rocks the child to-and-fro. “Fuck yours.”

Slamming my hands onto the table, I rise.

I rise.

I RISE!

“Uh-uh-uh!” Kieran warns, wagging a finger at me from his chair. His rocking of the child grows more and more exaggerated, and as he does that, her cries grow louder. “We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to the little tyke, would we?”

He sniggers, and I purse my lips while balling my fists.

“You’re really going to have to tell me the story about this kid sometime, you know?” He shuffles his chair back and stands up, still cradling the crying child. “Plenty of time for that, though! We’re just getting started, eh, doc?”

Who the fuck does he think he is? Bugs Bunny? Well I ain’t no Elmer Fudd. I…

“So, I’m gonna go now,” he interrupts my thinking, thumbing towards the door. Wait… has that been open this entire time?

No.


No.


Maybe?

FUCK! Not this shit! Not now! Not again!

By the time I can refocus, Kieran’s backing out the door.

But I’m not returned to darkness.

No.


I am the light.

And the door is still open.

Like a cartoon, I glance from left to right. No cameras, no guards, no security whatsoever. This is definitely a trap. I know I’m going to get burned, but I head for the door anyway.

Tally fuckn’ ho.





Err… didn’t I say that was still open?

To me, it’s all the same.

What’s a puny red wooden door to one who was made to walk through the fucking fire?

As I was made, so I shall be. The future is as it ever was.

I walk through the fucking door.

Que séra, séra.

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2D: Alias Was Right

“Called it.

I’m not even talking about the obvious. You’re the one who mentioned the boy and his uh… change of heart, and so I hope that you’ll do me a service on this front, Lou, and note that I didn’t go back to the well and talk about him in my first go-round. I mean, not really. Not in the way I did back before May Day. At the end of the day, the pathetic cunt showed the world exactly who he always was and from what I can tell, it wasn’t you that pushed him all the way over the edge. Not for a lack of trying, I might add. If anything though, it was me. I don’t take any real pride in that. Actually… I kind of wish he would have been able to prove me wrong in the end, for Corey and Dolly’s sake if nothing else.

But that’s not what I’m talking about when I say ‘called it’. Nah. I’m talking about how I feel almost compelled to stick my tongue out in your general direction and point out that I really seemed to nail your motivations for donning that pearly white suit once more, didn’t I? Whatever will be, will be, but whatever was… man, that shit just wasn’t working.

You know this. You owned it. But hey… I still called it, didn’t I?

There’s a part of me that wants to say ‘thank you’ for this level of honesty that you’ve served up. More than even the answers I asked for, that was really what I wanted from you last time. I’m not sure you’ve fully thought this through though, my man. You know what I’m doing here. Shit, you said it yourself. Through anyone and everyone, I move forward.

Ever forward.

So why are you looking in the past for a solution to a problem that’s already moved onwards?

…

Just some food for thought.

You say this is what I deserve, but that’s not really the compliment that you’re acting like it is and I’m pretty sure you know that. King Lou was good for a giggle; Barbecue Lou was good for a gasp; but bringing forth the Lou that I had heard about? Sounds more like a threat.

And here I thought you said you were going to be different.

No bother. Through ‘anyone and everyone’, right? Through anything and everything too.

Forward.

Ever forward.

Better catch up with that, Lou. If you were robbing me of what I was truly looking for, then it must have been a deliberate decision since I wasn’t exactly subtle about it. I asked for honesty, man. I hoped for answers. But note the tense that I’m using. Asked. Hoped. It’s all in the past, I’m afraid.

You’re being a fool.

Present fucking tense.

That’s what I was looking for. It’s clear to me now that you don’t have what I am looking for. ‘Cause the lights, Lou? They’re a’shining. The bells? They’re a’ringing. I’m here on the precipice. And the answers? They’re in my own manky fucking hands now. Everything I’ve fought for; everything I’ve survived for… this is The Tomorrow. And here, at the next dawn, the ‘old’ you is just an older you, if you catch my drift.”


“There’s a gun against your head. You said as much yourself. I’m over here deep-throating that fuckin’ chamber, and the finger on the trigger is getting itchy. The end doesn’t even need to sneak up on me. Why hide from it? After all, aren’t we all just walking towards our deaths? Shit, some of us are running without even knowing we’re doing so. Which one are you, Lou? Personally, I have a feeling that I’m the latter. It’s already happened at least once, so why not again? I’ve clawed back more time than I ever had the right for. Yeah, I know that. I’ve fought tooth and nail for every single second. You tried to ‘make something great from something’ with that whole King shit, but I made something great from

FUCKING NOTHING!

And with a gun in my mouth, the fire all around, and the reaper looming in the background, I know that every second could be my last. So I live like it is. I fucking FIGHT like it is!

You’re trying to right a wrong. I’m trying to right my life! And you don’t have the fucking answers. You just don’t. I’m not seeking a session with the Doctor anymore, Lou. Not anymore. I’m not out here opening myself up for you so you can get your dastardly little fingers met inside my wet, hot, brain bussy as any sort of cry for help. I’m doing it because I can. Everyone always comes to you seeking answers for who they are. Seeking their very own ‘heart of darkness’. But each time with you and I, it’s you who comes to me. Lou, I’m ripping open my own skull so that you can experience what it’s like to feel hopeless, helpless, and lost. So that you can realise that I’m not just another mouth saying ‘na-na-na-na-na you don’t scare me!’ I’m not just another face saying ‘I’m the one person you can’t get into the head of’.

Lou… I actually am that one.

The biggest match on the biggest stage doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’m almost surprised to hear to does to you, but I can see how you’d want it. Shit, everyone else that tries to FIGHT us would bawl at the suggestion that someone didn’t care about that facet - Chris Page is probably throwing his toys as we speak. But no matter the fight, no matter the date, no matter the location, the stakes haven’t changed for me. They are what they’ve always been. And with every passing week the force that rises to meet those expectations grows on an exponential scale. If I’m talking about that force, there’s really only one reason in the first place that I even tried to open those doors of yours that led us here.

They were in my way.

And I was moving…

Well… you know the fucking drill.

My turn to admit some faults. I repeat myself a lot. I think that you’re one of the people who actually understands why. I think that you understand how a simple mantra can turn into a tidal wave. I think a lot of things.

Diagnose me, baby. Just for the funsies.

I think of the spark that birthed the fire; the eruption that blotted the sun; the quake that ripped at the very earth itself. But I don’t think of them in terms of ‘what if?’. I think of them in terms of ‘what now?’ And I play my fucking hand, is what! I’m the guy who opens his mind up to the psych’; I’m the guy who lays contradiction traps for the self-proclaimed mastermind; I’m the guy who fights Goddesses with Gods; I AM THE FUCKING GUY, FULL STOP!

I am the answer, Lou. To every question that you have, I am the answer.

So go ahead and pride yourself on how you’re going to approach me. Tell me how you’re not going to try to pounce on any inconsistencies you may spy. It’d be real awkward if you did, now, B-T-dubs!

You ARE a fool.

But as few and far between as they may be, I will exploit your missteps, Lou. I will get into a pissing contest. I will flit between the sad clown and the arrogant piece of shit. I’ll play the rabid dog who should’ve been taken out behind the woodshed and fucking murdered years ago, and I’ll pull some artsy-fartsy metaphysical shitfuckery. And Lou? I’ll make it all look fucking easy. I’mma fuck your face like I’m a god damn spider monkey and then I’mma chew on your fucking bones. In your mind, this approach might suggest more faults within me, and in another’s mouth they might be. But I suggest you take a good hard look into my head and see those things for what they truly are when I’m wielding them. They’re everything. They’re the Universe itself, and you know what? It’s telling you to go fuck yourself! Congratu-fucking-lations!

They’re my survival, Lou. My dreams of another day.

Carpe the fucking diem.

You can take that, if you’d like. Drop the naughty language if you need to, but it’s all yours. After all, you’re the one who gave me one of my own little quips, no matter how much you may wish to cross it out now.

It is what it is, I guess.

Let me do it for you.


Que séra, séra”.

”I done told you once you son of a bitch, I'm the best that's ever been"

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2E: XX_Progress Notes_210914b

Patient Progress Notes
Date: 09/14/21	Therapist:	Facility:
Patient:	Age:	◻ Female ☑ Male
Session length: 30 min	◻ No Session: _________________
Treatment Issue: Significant degradation of prior functioning. Unclear self-goals and lack of contact with values. Obtained a child.
Symptoms observed during session:
◻ aggression (physical) ☑ aggression (verbal) ☑ agitation ☑ anger ◻ anhedonia ◻ anxiety/fear ◻ appetite disturbance ◻ danger to others ◻ danger to self ◻ decreased energy/fatigue ☑ delusions	◻ depressed ☑ distractibility ◻ emotional lability ◻ feelings of worthlessness ◻ hallucinations (auditory) ☑ hallucinations (visual) ◻ hopelessness/ helplessness ◻ impulsivity ☑ irritability ◻ negative statements	☑ noncompliance (medical care) ☑ restlessness ☑ sad/pained/ worried expression ◻ self deprecation ◻ sleep disturbance ☑ socially inappropriate ◻ social withdrawal ◻ suicidal ideation or plan ◻ thought disorder ◻ other: ◻ other:
Diagnoses: Undetermined
Intervention strategies implemented and session focus or theme: Exposure to hostile stimuli. Aim to readjust goals and values towards more appropriate targets.
Patient Response:	◻ Marked improvement ◻ Some improvement	☑ Same functioning ◻ Symptoms worsening
Evidence of patient response: No evidence of prior intervention efficacy, and no recollection of prior goals. However, patient engaged in conversation with familiar individual and did not demonstrate any escalation in severity of symptoms.
Future treatment/Follow-up: Individualised. Maintain fluid, idiosyncratic, readily-adaptable approach. Guest, KK, authorised to operate independently towards these aims.
Signature of therapist/title: