#asylumswag

Why am I here? Yeah, I know. People ponder the big questions in life, about existence, life, the world and all the connotations that it brings. The only question on my mind is "Why am I here?" Literally, why this room? This slate-colored room of concrete. Why? Deep down, if I really think about it. I know the answer. It all goes back to about a month ago. Or was it yesterday? Who knows anymore. The concept of time is beginning to escape me. My name is Edward Patraglia. But ever since I can remember, everybody's called me Elvis. I can't remember why that started, or why Elvis. Then again, nowadays I can't remember much. Anyway, back to my concrete cube. Why am I here? Why me? WHY? Again, the more I think about what happened in the past, the more it seems to coagulate inside my head. Court. Everyone was wearing suits, I remember seeing and hearing my name a lot. I remember twelve somber people looking at me with what seemed like pity. Now I'm stuck in this cube. The only link I have left to the outside world is my twitter feed. #whyamihere. It seems unfair, but maybe that's just because I just can't remember anything. #whathappened. I've stopped wondering, and now I've pretty much just accepted that I will be here until I die. I black out.

I wake up and experience the strange sensation of not being able to move my arms. What was this white thing that stopped me from moving? WHY? A burly security guard looks down at me. He tells me a story of how I broke out of my cell and almost ripped a nurse's throat out. Me? I don't remember doing that at all... Is that why I'm here? Did i do it before? The guard sticks a needle into my arm and blackness takes me again. When I wake up again the straight jacket is off, but next to me sits a small paper cup filled with pills. So many shapes and colors. A solitary sticky note sits next to it. Take Immediately, it reads in immaculate handwriting. I take the pills quickly. My twitter feed sits next to me. I see posts I can't remember. #therapy. #gettingbetter. The last one on the feed, dated yesterday, catches in my throat. #insane. Me? Did I write that? Am I insane? The only answer that even remotely makes sense to me is Yes. #Darkness. #Acceptance. #Insanity.

Names

My name has always defined me more than the regular person. No one else gets the name James Norman Kranzdorf. No one else has that gift. I call it a gift but for as long as I can remember as soon as i break out my full name, all it is met with is snickers and giggles. Simplicity has always appealed to me. First it was James. Then it got shorter; Jim. Finally I found the name that defines me. A singular letter. J. Jay. I've been going by Jay for years, and that defines me more than most things. It sets me apart, because very few people go by Jay.