Pencils, Dust, and Imperfection

My head was killing me, but seeing a container of morphine beside my hospital bed changed that quickly, like a placebo effect. I tried to lift my left arm, but I realized that wasn't going to work at all.

I tried to remember why I was there, but that just made my head hurt even more. I decided that I was just going to sleep and let the morphine do its job; I'd deal with everything whenever I became painless.

You sure you don't have Alzheimer's, Armstrong?
Your little brain must be full of of holes or something.

I felt my eyes sting with hot tears. I exhaled and indulged my sanity but not answering Christian in any way.

But you're thinking about me.
I can hear your thoughts, remember?

I want to make a getaway. I'm not a masochist, so ripping out the IV and trying to find a way out of here in complete agony might suck a little.

I heard a sublimation, but I was too tired to find out what it was. but I was too tired to try to find out what it was. The room was trodorous, which was weird, but good, and I could feel the morphine beginning to work it's magic. My head was obviously spinning, as I still tired not to wonder why I was in a hospital bed.

I want to make a runaway; I want to be runaway.

I'm sick of being in this paper-thin, comfortless bed, and I'm sick of the drought my lucidity has been having to deal with because of Christian and Gloria. My marriage is healing, but the fact that the two of them are still inside my head could fuck everything up again. I want them out; I want a diagnosis and some medication. I just want to get better, to have my normality and sense of rationality back.

Then why don't you be a runaway?
Run the hell out of here.

Are you still pissed off?

Yes, so don't add to it.

For God's sake, Gloria.
He did nothing wrong.

Why are you trying to get me to forgive him?

Because I don't want to deal with a structureless grudge.
And you're really annoying when you're pissy.

Why should I forgive him or continue to try to help him?
Whenever I do, nothing changes; no respect, no gratitude, or appreciation. It's like I don't even exist.

You don't. The two of you aren't real.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
Rational words won't kill the irrational. You'll have to get some pills for a follow-through.

I'm not even sure I have MPD.

What else could it be, Armstrong? Seriously?
God, you are stupid.

You don't exist, so your insults mean nothing.

Ignorance is bliss.

I'm not being ignorant! You feel real, but you're not; that's what Adrienne told me. The two of you are just figments of my sick imagination, and when I get better, you'll both be gone; I'll have my serenity back.

Are how will you get better?
Where's the magic cure all pill we discussed awhile back?

I'm hoping to find it, or anything else that will get rid of the both of you.

What have I ever done to you, Billie?
I've only ever tried to help!

You aren't real, Gloria! You haven't fucked me up as much as Christian, but you aren't healthy and sane. I need you out of my head as much as I need Christian out.

Billie, a while back, I made some pretty lousy decisions and did some stupid things. I was naive and--

You don't have a past, Gloria! You shouldn't even have a name! You're just a twisted fixture of my subconscious, so stop bullshitting about your past when it's all just a deception!

I'm not being guile! Your subconscious apparently thinks I have a past because, otherwise, I wouldn't be talking about 'since I'm not real' , right? Isn't that your logic?

Yeah, but--

"You're finally awake," a doctor interrupted as he walked into the room. He sat down and glanced through my chart as he said, "You suffered a state of Dissociative Identity Disorder, and your delirious state actually helped prove it more.

"You hit your head off the ground pretty hard before Dr. Gibbs was able to catch you, but it's just a nasty bump; no concussion," he continued. "We want yo keep you overnight, and, if you feel up to it, we can conduct the questionnaire Dr. Gibbs had planned for your likable MPD. Would that be OK for, say....two o' clock?"

I was somehow able to nod and the doctor left shortly afterwords.

A questionnaire, huh?
It's gonna be a showdown.

Yeah, and you're on Gloria's side.

Ew.

Oh, and I'm flattered to be on your's. I'm just dancing with happiness!

You should be--I'm a great guy.

No you're not because you don't exist!

You keep talking without any doing.
It's working wonders for you, Armstrong.

Well, I'm doing something now. Once this questionnaire's through, these last couple months will just be a bad memory.