Post by Aditya on Jan 1, 2010 11:09:21 GMT 5.5
found it on GDC..the writer's name is Sarah
Billie Joe has Multiple Personality Disorder.
Yeah...
I don't know if the title will stay the same, so it may change.
Prologue
I never noticed it before. I figured the trials I was going through indicated something; maybe past drug use or common sips of intoxicants. I figured my mentality or loss of sensibility could be justified by something self-inflicted, but I was wrong.
The blackouts terrified me the most. I didn't want to awake falling off of a bridge or on boat to no mans land. I wanted to remember each and every swing of the pendulum instead of forgetting hours of the days. Amnesia rotted my brain, and I was incapable from stopping it from doing so.
Next was the depression. I was lacking the feeling of pleasure, intimacy, and happiness. I first noticed this when I was on stage, playing a cricket stadium of 50,000, and felt nothing. I felt no exhileration, excitment or joy. I was an empty shell from then on.
I'm not normal or self-controlled.
I was experiencing regular hardships that I had grown acuston to feeling. Headaches and body pains are completley normal - especially if you live the lifestyle I lead - and I've dealt with panic attacks and anxiety since I can remember.I never thought of those problems of normality to be symptoms of something worse.
The distortion of my perception and reality was causing me to question my levelof sanity. My unjustified anger made me want to cry over the pain I caused, and the auditory hallucinations made me certain that I wasn't OK.
I lost what is left of my mind.
I didn't want anything I was doing taken lightly because everything felt so heavy to me. I couldn't carry the weight of this insanity so I let it corrupt me and eat away at my insides like a maggot to a corpse. I couldn't stop the devastation or the fictional decapitation that felt all too literal.
I walked down a one-way roadto insanity, searching for a familiar path back to a state of mind.
I'm not sure if I found one or not.
hapter 1 - Viva La Gloria
The song wasn't coming together, and I was getting frusterated. I was annoyed and irritated by the fact that I could write on verse, chorus, bridge, or some awesome guitar riff, but would get stuck afterwards.
I was sitting in my house studio down in my den. My sons Joey and Jakob were at school, and my wife Adrienne was working at her store. I was alone, and I liked that in a way. I knew I wouldn't be bothered by anyone in a few hours, so I could write without any disturbances.
The time wasn't going to much use, though. As the pendulum, swung, my fingers remained locked on an immobile pen. I was using a pen because I have an unexplainable fear of pencils. I don't know why a small, slender, yellow writing utensil with lead and eraser shavings scares me, but the phobia has caused me to almost convulse if I touch one.
The acoustic guitar left my lap as I set it against the wall. I sighed and rubbed my head; a migraine begginning to flourish within my brain. I headed upstairs slowly, passing framed photos of Bob Dylan and the Beatles. I reached the kicthe and popped a Tylenol dry before taking a slight shiver.
I decided that maybe a drive would clear my mind; maybe unlock some idea from my tired cranium. I put on my leather jacket, bracing for the April breeze, and grabbed my car keys off the table. I climbed into my car, my head still throbbing as I started the ignition.
I drove down some avenue, and no ideas popped into my head. I was searching for a great epiphany; something as clever as Jesus of Suburbia; which I thought of while on a walk. A drive may not equal a stroll, but it's sort of similar; heading aimlessly around Oakland, pondering everything.
The streets were beyond familiar; I had them mapped out in my mind it seemed. I could turn onto a pathway almost absent-mindidly, and still be able to find my way home. I guess thats whats it's like when you live in the same general area for 37 years.
Out of nowhere, I was stricken with a panic attack. My heart raced, and I felt extremley nervous for no reason. Anxiety showered over me as my lungs seemed to convulse. Simply breathing became a task as I tried to concentrate on my driving; trying not to die in some freak accident.
A green light at an intersection allowed me to continue a calm recklessness that I hoped was subtle. I could barely think of anything aside from questions - question of inquiries that I couldn't answer. For instance, What the hell is wrong with me?
I wanted to pull myself off the side of the raod and compose myself, but my shaking body wouldn make that difficult. I didn't want to veer off and smash into a guardrail or another car. Then again, I couldn't drive while I was having a panic attack. I guess I would have to take a chance.
Slow down.
You're going to kill yourself!
Thank God there were no cars behind me because I stepped onto the brakes and haulted without warning. After realizing that I was sitting in the middle of an Oakland highway, I summoned the strength to pull off to the side of the road.
That's better.
I thought that guardrail was going to be my new face.
I blinked. I was hearing voices, and the voice was as clear as day. It was a loud, soft female voice, and it was as coherent as anything. Each syllable was enunciated in my head, so nothing was nisinterpreted. There was something in my head, talking - taking care of me in a weird way - and I couldn't control it.
You don't remember me?
You never were much for faces...or voices, I suppose.
This is a dream, and I'm about to wake up. I either ate something weird, or drank too much beer; whatever it is, it caused me to literally lose my mind. Everything will be normal once I open my eyes.
Don't wish me away.
I'm not wishing anything. I'm simply thinking in realistic terms. A healthy person doesn't randomly start hearing voices in a normal reality. There must be some kind of a glitch; I must be dreaming.
You should want this to be real.
Why? Why should I want to be hearing voices? I'm a sane person; I don't want to lose my mind to some auditory hallucination.
Because I'm here...
And not him.
My migraine grew as I wondered what the voice inside of my head was talking about.
Don't act oblivious.
you're a bad actor.
Why are you here, driving me insane?
I'm here to save you - protect you.
He's here to destroy you.
Who's he?
...I received no answer, which was actually scary. The voice inside my head vanished, as if it disliked my question, and, for some reason, I wanted it back.
Well...who are you?
...I, once again, received no answer. I sighed as my head slowly stopped spinning. I figured that I was either dreaming, or totally spinning. I figured that I was either dreaming, or totally hungover, but the voice returned and crushed all of my hopes.
You know my name.
G-L-O-R-I-A.
Billie Joe has Multiple Personality Disorder.
Yeah...
I don't know if the title will stay the same, so it may change.
Prologue
I never noticed it before. I figured the trials I was going through indicated something; maybe past drug use or common sips of intoxicants. I figured my mentality or loss of sensibility could be justified by something self-inflicted, but I was wrong.
The blackouts terrified me the most. I didn't want to awake falling off of a bridge or on boat to no mans land. I wanted to remember each and every swing of the pendulum instead of forgetting hours of the days. Amnesia rotted my brain, and I was incapable from stopping it from doing so.
Next was the depression. I was lacking the feeling of pleasure, intimacy, and happiness. I first noticed this when I was on stage, playing a cricket stadium of 50,000, and felt nothing. I felt no exhileration, excitment or joy. I was an empty shell from then on.
I'm not normal or self-controlled.
I was experiencing regular hardships that I had grown acuston to feeling. Headaches and body pains are completley normal - especially if you live the lifestyle I lead - and I've dealt with panic attacks and anxiety since I can remember.I never thought of those problems of normality to be symptoms of something worse.
The distortion of my perception and reality was causing me to question my levelof sanity. My unjustified anger made me want to cry over the pain I caused, and the auditory hallucinations made me certain that I wasn't OK.
I lost what is left of my mind.
I didn't want anything I was doing taken lightly because everything felt so heavy to me. I couldn't carry the weight of this insanity so I let it corrupt me and eat away at my insides like a maggot to a corpse. I couldn't stop the devastation or the fictional decapitation that felt all too literal.
I walked down a one-way roadto insanity, searching for a familiar path back to a state of mind.
I'm not sure if I found one or not.
hapter 1 - Viva La Gloria
The song wasn't coming together, and I was getting frusterated. I was annoyed and irritated by the fact that I could write on verse, chorus, bridge, or some awesome guitar riff, but would get stuck afterwards.
I was sitting in my house studio down in my den. My sons Joey and Jakob were at school, and my wife Adrienne was working at her store. I was alone, and I liked that in a way. I knew I wouldn't be bothered by anyone in a few hours, so I could write without any disturbances.
The time wasn't going to much use, though. As the pendulum, swung, my fingers remained locked on an immobile pen. I was using a pen because I have an unexplainable fear of pencils. I don't know why a small, slender, yellow writing utensil with lead and eraser shavings scares me, but the phobia has caused me to almost convulse if I touch one.
The acoustic guitar left my lap as I set it against the wall. I sighed and rubbed my head; a migraine begginning to flourish within my brain. I headed upstairs slowly, passing framed photos of Bob Dylan and the Beatles. I reached the kicthe and popped a Tylenol dry before taking a slight shiver.
I decided that maybe a drive would clear my mind; maybe unlock some idea from my tired cranium. I put on my leather jacket, bracing for the April breeze, and grabbed my car keys off the table. I climbed into my car, my head still throbbing as I started the ignition.
I drove down some avenue, and no ideas popped into my head. I was searching for a great epiphany; something as clever as Jesus of Suburbia; which I thought of while on a walk. A drive may not equal a stroll, but it's sort of similar; heading aimlessly around Oakland, pondering everything.
The streets were beyond familiar; I had them mapped out in my mind it seemed. I could turn onto a pathway almost absent-mindidly, and still be able to find my way home. I guess thats whats it's like when you live in the same general area for 37 years.
Out of nowhere, I was stricken with a panic attack. My heart raced, and I felt extremley nervous for no reason. Anxiety showered over me as my lungs seemed to convulse. Simply breathing became a task as I tried to concentrate on my driving; trying not to die in some freak accident.
A green light at an intersection allowed me to continue a calm recklessness that I hoped was subtle. I could barely think of anything aside from questions - question of inquiries that I couldn't answer. For instance, What the hell is wrong with me?
I wanted to pull myself off the side of the raod and compose myself, but my shaking body wouldn make that difficult. I didn't want to veer off and smash into a guardrail or another car. Then again, I couldn't drive while I was having a panic attack. I guess I would have to take a chance.
Slow down.
You're going to kill yourself!
Thank God there were no cars behind me because I stepped onto the brakes and haulted without warning. After realizing that I was sitting in the middle of an Oakland highway, I summoned the strength to pull off to the side of the road.
That's better.
I thought that guardrail was going to be my new face.
I blinked. I was hearing voices, and the voice was as clear as day. It was a loud, soft female voice, and it was as coherent as anything. Each syllable was enunciated in my head, so nothing was nisinterpreted. There was something in my head, talking - taking care of me in a weird way - and I couldn't control it.
You don't remember me?
You never were much for faces...or voices, I suppose.
This is a dream, and I'm about to wake up. I either ate something weird, or drank too much beer; whatever it is, it caused me to literally lose my mind. Everything will be normal once I open my eyes.
Don't wish me away.
I'm not wishing anything. I'm simply thinking in realistic terms. A healthy person doesn't randomly start hearing voices in a normal reality. There must be some kind of a glitch; I must be dreaming.
You should want this to be real.
Why? Why should I want to be hearing voices? I'm a sane person; I don't want to lose my mind to some auditory hallucination.
Because I'm here...
And not him.
My migraine grew as I wondered what the voice inside of my head was talking about.
Don't act oblivious.
you're a bad actor.
Why are you here, driving me insane?
I'm here to save you - protect you.
He's here to destroy you.
Who's he?
...I received no answer, which was actually scary. The voice inside my head vanished, as if it disliked my question, and, for some reason, I wanted it back.
Well...who are you?
...I, once again, received no answer. I sighed as my head slowly stopped spinning. I figured that I was either dreaming, or totally spinning. I figured that I was either dreaming, or totally hungover, but the voice returned and crushed all of my hopes.
You know my name.
G-L-O-R-I-A.
