WARNING: IF THIS IS YOUR FIRST VISIT TO THIS BLOG DO NOT CONTINUE READING THIS POST. THERE ARE MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD.
GO TO THE BEGINNING. 
READ ME FIRST

It’s late.

I am suffering Shock.
And the effects of The Attempt.

Being checked into a mental health hospital in the dead of night is the strangest time.

Because you have no concept of how things are run or the flow of activity.

Most of the staff is gone.

Night shift on duty.

All the patients are drugged up and sleeping.

Somewhere in the distance… the faint vibration of someone snoring behind a closed door.

The adults play with paperwork while my dazed and Shocked self is escorted towards locked doors.

And just like all the way back in Pomona… a button is pushed.

The nurse/orderly/janitor/tonersalesman takes a key from somewhere safe and tied to their body– so I can’t steal it– and unlocks the special lock in the side of the wall.

This. Is. A. Way. Less. Cool. Special. Door. Lock.

I am immediately led to a room with only a mattress and that’s it.

“Just be a moment…” Whoever They Were told me.

What the fuck have I done?!?

GOD PLEASE MAKE THIS STOP.

I’M SORRY.

I don’t want to be here.

It was a mistake!

PLEASE. THIS WAS A MISTAKE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!!!

A bored nurse quickly enters.

“Takeoffanybeltsandshoelaces. Personaleffectsgointhebag.”

“I don’t have a belt, I’m wearing pajamas.”

“Drawstring gotta go.”

“But my pajamas don’t fit that well. I need the drawstring.”

“GIVE. ME. THE. DRAWSTRING. OR. THE. PANTS. WHICH IS IT.”

The drawstring is cut from my pajamas and my hoodie unceremoniously.

I will never see them again.

*The Final Souvenir of a stay in the mental health hospital is getting all your possessions back and then every time you wear your hoodie/pajamas you’re reminded of their violent destruction until you get new ones– which sucks when you have no money and need that hoodie for the next two years and have to be reminded of trauma every day. Ask me how I know this sentence.

The very first thing you will learn when you are a 16 year old in a mental health hospital for kids in 1993… is that nobody gives a fuck about your situation.

You are an inconvenience.

You are an annoyance.

And for reasons you kinda understand but kinda don’t… everyone is mad at you.

This does not happen to any other medical condition that I know of.

Maybe AIDS patients in the 80’s are the closest I can imagine.

But, this has been happening for millennia to mental health patients.

There is zero compassion.

Some routine questions are asked.

A wristband with my data is snapped onto my wrist.

“DO NOT TAKE THIS OFF”

For reasons I don’t know my guilt kicks in.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ha. Yeah you are.”

A paper cup is slid in front of me with a small pill.

“What’s this?”

“TAKE IT.”

“I just want to know what it is–“

“FOR SLEEP. TAKE IT.”

Right now… being knocked out seems lovely.

I ingest the pill.

Somewhere in the Universe, the God That Has Abandoned Me is playing a vinyl record of Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” while staring at a black light neon picture of little Jimmy wearing the Red Hat.

God is high as fuck and laughing his ass off right now at my predicament.

One pill… makes you larger
And one pill… makes you smaaaall

“Follow me.”

I leave the isolation room and follow her around a corner to the nurses station in the center of the wing.

The bright lights drilling into my brain in the darkened wing.

“Sit.”

And the ones that… mothergiiives you
Don’t dooo… anything at alllllllll….

They ignore me for 20 minutes.

I notice for the first time that I’m cold…

But… I wisely decide that speaking up is not a smart thing to do.

I’m quickly learning the safest thing to do in an unfamiliar environment is:

SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN.

What have I done?

What have I done?

What have I done?

I finally yawn.

“LET’S GO. FOLLOW ME.”

Go ask Alice
When she’s ten feet taaaaaall

The effectsssss of the pill arrrre startiiiiing to hittt.

And ssssomething about movinggggg away from the briiiight lights of the nurses stationnnn into the daarknessssss of the hallwaaaay adds to the disoorieentting effffect. SSSooo manamyy ccclllloosseedd ddoooorrss oonn bbootthh sssiiidddeesess.

And if you go… chaaasing rabbits
And you know you’re… going to faaaall

Iss thaaaaat a poooool taaable? I liiiiike pooooooooooool!

“SHH! QUIET. PEOPLE ARE SLEEPING.”

Tell ’em a hookah-smoking caterpillar
Has given you the caaaaall

“This is your room.”

Mean Night Nurse From Hell flicks on the light which rudely awakens my roommate who is another new person to be mad at me.

“SHUT THE FUCKING LIGHT OFF”

“GO. TO. SLEEP. CHADTIMDUANEKYLE!!”

Mean Night Nurse From Hell Gives No Fucks.

“This is your bed, desk, and closet. Lie down and go to sleep and we’ll get you squared away in the morning.”

She leaves in the same brutal whirlwind she arrived in.

The light clicks out.

I sit on the bed and feel the mattress “crinkle” like the kind of mattress in a babies crib to make it easier to clean if the baby pisses or shits or barfs… like some mental health patients do.

And I quietly burst into tears.

“Dude, can you PLEASE shut the fuck up and sleep?!?”

Call Alice
When she was just smaaaaaaall

I sit staring out a window that is clearly thick enough that I can’t jump through it. Which accentuates the overlapping weave of wire laminated an inch deep.

The names of dozens of kids who have resided here in the years before my arrival are etched into the glass.

Wonder what happened to them all…

I. am. not. in. Kansas. anymore.

When the men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to gooooooooooo

This is the most scared I’ve ever been in my life.

I’m in total shock.

This is the first moment I’ve had to myself to collect my breath since it happened.

AAnndd tthhee ppiillll iiss kkiicckkiinngg iinn.

And I’m scared to get into the bed because it means the pill will wash over me and then the morning will come and right now… I’m by myself and that’s good. Because I am terrified of what will greet me in this place in the morning.

BBuutt tthee ppiillll iiiisssss winnnniinnnnngggg.

And you’ve just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving loooow

And so… I slide into the crinkly mattressed bed.

And the orange sodium lights from the parking lot casting strange shadows on the ceiling above me as I listen to the rhythmic breathing of my angry roommate.

Tears are silently falling from my eyes and running into my ears.

The need to sniffle and swallow the mucous in my nose is a problem. I can’t breathe. I have to do it. I try to do so as quietly as possible.

SNNIFFFSNNNORRRTTT

“Shut the FUCK UP AND GO TO SLEEP I’MTRYINGTOSLEEPHERE”

I am so scared I am afraid to move or breathe.

At some point the darkness envelops me and the immediate trauma of a suicide attempt and the run to the hospital in the middle of the night comes to a merciful end.

And our patient falls asleep.

Go ask Alice
I think she’ll knoooooow

The sounds of my roommate awake and banging around the room shock me awake.

BUT. I have the mother fucking hangover from HELL.

I’m going to lay here pretending to sleep until he leaves.

“Hey if you miss breakfast they won’t let you fhqwfuygqfuakgark. Head’s up.”

The door to my room opens and slams.

I have no idea what the fuck the consequence is for not eating breakfast.

And I’m torn between being utterly paralyzed with fear to go outside as I can hear chaos and commotion out there.

“YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED OUT OF YOUR ROOM WITHOUT CLOTHES!! PUT. YOUR. CLOTHES. ON. MARCUS!!”

But the hunger is winning and the fear of breaking a rule: REMEMBER AT THIS POINT I AM A 16 YEAR OLD FRICKING EVANGELICAL™.

The hunger is winning.

And I don’t want to be in any more trouble than I already am.

Shit how much trouble am I in?!?

OH FUCK. WHAT IF FOCUS HEARS ABOUT THIS?!?!

WILL I BE FIRED?!?!?

FUCK I DIDN’T CONSIDER THAT I WOULD SURVIVE.

FUCK.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

When logic and proportionnn
Have fallen sloppy deaaaaaaad

I get out of bed and pee.

The safety measures in the bathroom remind me that this facility is designed so you can’t kill yourself. All metal edges are rounded. No soap or hygeine products yet.

This is JailLite™.

More on that later.

I put my shoes on and suddenly remember that I can’t tie them and so every step I take my shoes fall off.

It’s adding to the awkwardness of the fact that my pajama pants are also falling off.

And it’s in this precise moment of God’s Perfect Comedic Timing… that I think how just hours ago I was Jimmy Barclay and I was in Hawaii with Donna and George and Lawrence and The Rathbones.

THE FUCKING RATHBONES.

Jimmy fucking Barclay and Rodney fucking Rathbone making all the glorious antagonistic chaos together.

How the hell did I go from there to here?!?

GOD? ARE YOU THERE?!?

I don’t want to be here!! i’msoscaredandalone!!!

And I’m afraid of everyone out there.

And the White Knight is talking backwaards

I have to slide my feet instead of taking steps so my shoes won’t fall off.

Sliiide.

Sliiiiide.

They catch on the carpet.

I’m woozy.

I can’t think straight…

The simple act of walking to a door and opening it is like trying run underwater.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES ON MARCUS!!!”

PLEASE GOD.

I AM SO SCARED OF WHAT’S ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS DOOR.

And the Red Queen’s off with her heaaaaaaad

With one hand holding up my pajama pants and my knees shaking…

My other hand grabs the door handle.

I can see the shadow of people walking by my door under the crack in the door.

My breath is caught in my chest.

PLEASE GOD.

I DON’T BELONG HERE.

I open the door.

RE-MEM-BER WHAT THE DOOOOORMOUSE SAAAAAID

I step into the brightly lit hallway.

The hustle and bustle of nurses and 2 dozen teens and one very naked Marcus.

I am dazed and I just stand there.

Out of the corner of my eye there is a man about two steps away from my door heading in my direction.

The opening of my door and my emergence from the room forces him to look up from the binder/clipboard/papers he was studying.

HE STOPS DEAD IN HIS TRACKS

And he locks eyes on me.

And for a moment the two of us just stand there staring at each other.

I am currently suffering through the greatest Shock of my life.

And the Second Greatest Shock of my life is now occurring.

IN 6 YEARS OF BEING JIMMY BARCLAY I HAVE NEVER NOT ONCE EVER RUN INTO ANYONE WHO EVER LISTENED TO THE SHOW, KNEW ABOUT THE SHOW, OR KNEW ANYONE WHO KNEW ABOUT THE SHOW.

I. HAVE. NEVER. IN. 6. YEARS. MET. ONE. SINGLE. PERSON. ANYWHERE. I. HAVE. TRAVELED. ON. EARTH. WHO. KNOWS. ABOUT. ADVENTURES. IN. ODYSSEY.

PLEASE GOD.

I DON’T BELONG HERE.

I open the door.

I step into the brightly lit hallway.

The hustle and bustle of nurses and 2 dozen teens.

HE STOPS DEAD IN HIS TRACKS

And he locks eyes on me.

And for a moment the two of us just stand there staring at each other.

And we are having the exact same thought.

“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing. Here.”

RE-MEM-BER WHAT THE DOORRRMOUSSEEE SAAAAAAID

I AM STARING INTO THE EYES OF RODNEY FUCKING RATHBONE.

FEEEEEEDDD YOUUR HEEAAAAAAADDDDDDDD

FEEEEEEEEEEDDDDD

YOOOOUUUUURRR

HEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD

THE PRODIGAL

VOLUME ONE

WRITTEN AND LIVED

BY

DAVE GRIFFIN

first draft
October 5th 2022 7:26 A.M