Schizoboy

Hi, I’m Frank Jesus. Let me tell you about what happened to me last June.

It was a nice green and hot summer in Rockport, Illinois.

I had just returned from a tumultuous sophomore year at Harvard University. My Lebanese girlfriend had broken up with me, and my GPA had fallen from a 3.0 to a 2.8 within the course of that year. There were break-ups, second break-ups, and revenge sex, all initiated by her.

It was all over though. I returned to the house with my little loving brother, and happy Mexican father and Hungarian mother awaited me. Their love for me reached the moon and back, and their love was returned. I lived in a three-story house in Illinois. I guess you could say I was spoiled. My dad often gave me things that I wanted, like games and toys, when I was a kid, fed me what I wanted like fried chicken and pasta everyday, and um… occasionally did my homework for me back when I was in high school. If I were ever to become rich, I had told my self, I would pay him back ten times over.

For some reason, being back home was refreshing, and it was easy for me to focus on and be motivated to work on my big goal: being drafted for the NFL! I was good at football, you see, very good (at least in my opinion at the time).

As soon as I got back to Rockport, I went to my old high school, which was two blocks away, and stole a 35-pound dumbbell. I would do one-arm dumbbell rows next to my backyard pool in 85-degree weather until I was so sore I couldn’t lift my arms. I would go to the mirror inside the house, flexed my muscles pumped with blood, and then run outside to jump in the pool, washing away the little sweat I had worked up. Then I’d swim a couple of laps after my arms were no longer sore. I would do this several times a day, every day of the week.

My upper body became really jacked within a month. “NFL draft, NFL draft” I would repeat to myself. It was everything to me.

Not many of my high school friends came back to Rockport. They were all out doing internships or doing research. It wasn’t long before I really got into social networking to pass the time. Before I knew it, I was spending 3 to 4 hours a day on Twitter, tweeting dozens of things a day. I had about 15 followers, but… you know, it was fun. It wasn’t long before celebrities started contacting me. Kim Kardashian, Leonardo DiCaprio, Emma Watson. Feh, they were all trying to get to know me. I was going to be an NFL star, and my tweets were sensational. I preached peace and I could predict the future. I was the new Jesus… Or so I thought.

Suddenly, I started accusing my mom of cheating on my dad, and my dad of being gay and a fraud. I hit both of them. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital on the grounds of psychotic behavior. What was this madness?

I walked tall as I entered the white building. I towered over these fools. NFL Draft. Jesus. A policeman called me over to a room and instructed me to take off my pants. Was I a lab rat? Suddenly, I was put into a light blue gown. Next, they led me to another room where I was strapped to a stretcher, and just like that, my parents were gone. A black man in blue scrubs came up to me and asked me a bunch of questions. “Have you been hearing things that aren’t there?” “Have you been seeing things?” What the hell was this guy asking? I politely said no, and he left. I tried to get out of the bonds holding my hands and feet to the stretcher, but the more I struggled, the tighter the bonds seemed to get. “What if this interfered with my training?” I thought. NFL Draft. NFL Draft.

Suddenly, I was wheeled into another room and they put me behind a curtain. I had to pee. I was unstrapped after about 2 hours. Thank god! The walk to the restroom and back was great exercise. I sat down on the stretcher, half expecting nurses to strap me down again, but they didn’t. I closed the curtain to my room.

A few minutes later, the black man in scrubs came back. I don’t remember why, but I had the oddest feeling that this guy was Dwayne Wade. He didn’t look like Dwayne Wade, but I could feel that he was. He was in disguise somehow. Perhaps using another man’s body as a vessel. He said certain things, like, “You’re a good kid,” and “Save us.” I didn’t know what to think. I was just calm. Sedated. Dwayne Wade was talking to me… It felt like no big deal at the time.

A few hours later, a few men who looked like apes came into the room. One of them was chatty, intelligent. He was a chimpanzee. The other was quiet and larger, like a gorilla. The chimpanzee came up to me and said: “Now just stay there, you’ll be here for a while. Heh heh.” What a jerk. “When do I get out of here?” I said straightforwardly.” “Heh heh, just sit down.” I sat down. The chatty chimpanzee turned to some of the female nurses and tried to flirt with them. But they nurses liked the gorilla, who was just playing with a game on his phone. That little chimpanzee kept trying though.

Suddenly, the gorilla closed my curtain. There was a long wait. I did some push-ups. “Heh heh.” I could keep hearing that chimpanzee chatter away! Suddenly, the curtain opened. It was Dwayne Wade’s vessel. “Let’s go, kid. We’re taking you to Almond Brook.”

(Some background: I am a 22 year old, pen name Frank Callan, in college. I am thinking about writing a dope short story or book loosely based on my experience with schizophrenia. I was thinking it might be interesting to people. This is a preview and my first piece ever, really, and hence it is my first post on medium.)