Breakdown, Dreams, and Resurrection

Fuck. Adrienne and Jakob are home. Which means I'll have to talk to both of them at some point about what's going on inside my head. Part of me is happy, and the other part of me is scared to death. Because of everything that happened the last week and a half, I'm not so sure I want anyone to be around. I don't want to tell Adrienne what happened, even though I'm going to have to. I just don't think I can look her in the eyes and tell her what I did, even if it wasn't necessarily 'me' that did it.

Technically, it was you.
Just you in a different state of mind.

More like a different planet of mind.
Or galaxy of mind. Or universe.

Not really.

Hey! You're back!
And don't blame us, Blow Job. That's just stupid.

How so? You're the reason I'm in this mess.

Jeez, you can't just blame me!
Blame is like an STD - you have to spread it to everyone.

Unless you put a cap on your pen.
Or a condom on your penis, in more graphic terms.

Blame isn't a dick, Chris. You suck at analogies.

He's back for two minutes and you're already heckling him.

Of course! That's why I wanted him back.
He's my insult punching bag.

So nice of you.

Hey, I never said I was a saint!

Your name is Saint Jimmy, for Surburbia's sake!
It's in your freakin' name! Live up to it!

I didn't choose to have that in my name, little lady. That's the terrible work of BJ right there. Blame him - spread the blame around. Ah! Don't you love how everything comes back around?

Ugh. You're such a Typhoid Mary.

And your such a Lameoid Mary.

Hah, you walking contradiction, you.

I try.

But I really just can't deal-

Why are you such an ass, Jimmy?

Why are you asking?
Is my asshood offensive?

It's annoying.

So is your face.

Are you, like, 5!?

5 and a half, thank you very much!

Urgh.

I'm surprised Rusty isn't putting her two cents in right now.
Waiting for the time to strike, my love?

Waiting for the time I can shove my foot up your-

BILLIE! I don't even look like Billie! Why think that we are the same person!? It's madness, I tell you! I'm an individual! I am Wilhelm Fink!

Stop! Just, stop - all of you! I have to talk to Adrienne about everything, and I can't get my point across if I can't concentrate worth shit.

I thought you said you didn't want to talk to her?

I don't want to, but I kind of have to.

No you don't. Just ignore the wife.

That doesn't accomplish anything. It just makes everything worse.

That's what he wants, Gloria.

Well, I don't care what he wants.
He's not going to get what he wants.

Now I have 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' stuck in my head.

Way to go. That means it's stuck in my head too.

Attempting to ignore the jumble of voices, I finally stepped out of my car and made my way to my front door. I had been panicking for a few minutes; since I pulled in the driveway to see Adrienne's car there as well. I tried to give myself a pep talk; to encourage and convince myself that I was freaking out over nothing, but that didn't make the frog in my throat disappear.

So, what are you going to do? What are you going to say?

I don't know. I guess I'm just going to wing it.

This isn't an acceptance speech at the shitty VMA's, Billie. You can't wing a fundamental conversation with your wife.

Well, do you have any idea what I should say?

If you don't, Rusty doesn't.
Do we have to go over this every time?

Just open the door and walk through it, Billie. Everything will be fine. She's your wife; she understands. She's gone through this before with you.

She hasn't gone through what happened last night with Joey, though.

Maybe Joey told her about it already.

That might be worse.

Sheesh, BJ, what do you want from everyone? You can't have everything, you selfish bastard. Decisions come with two sides: yes or no. Good or bad. They go together in different variations; sometimes yes is good, and vice versa. If your son told your wife, that's either better or worse than you telling her yourself. Either way, you have to be content with one of them, or your life will just go to shit.

Well, that was unexpected.

You're giving Blow Job useful advice?
You must've drank too many jello shots.

No, that was the most coherent he's ever been.

That actually doesn't really help me at all.
It just makes me feel like crap.

Success!

Ignore them, Billie.
Talk to Adrienne. Just get it all over with.

Instead of dragging this all out further, I took Gloria's advice and entered my home. Everything was quiet and normal. My kids were at school, according to the clock that read a little after noon. Which meant it was one-on-one with Adrienne, which terrified me.

"Adie?" I called to an empty living room. I walked around aimlessly, not sure what to do. I headed up the stairs, the idiotic part of me hoping she was sleeping or something. I was too reluctant to confess everything that I was going even more insane.

I reached the bedroom, and was greeted by my wife. She was folding laundry, and must've not heard me come in.

Because folding laundry is such a noisy activity.

Hush!

"Billie!" she exclaimed. She jumped off the bed and hugged me like Joey and Jakob used to when they were really young, and I came home from a long tour. I hugged her back, missing her touch. I soaked in the aroma of her, and even though the hugged lasted short seconds, every ounce of worry and reluctance disappeared.

Told you so!

"How are you?" she asked. I knew she was really asking, "How bad is it?" but in a nicer, more conventional form.

I looked in her intense, brown eyes, feeling like a waste of existence. I wanted to tell her how great everything was; make up some bullshit lie, but I knew that wouldn't work.

"Have you talked to Joey?" I asked, testing the waters.

She nodded, but stopped short. "About what? Did something happen?"

Well, the wife is apparently oblivious.
As always.

And you are apparently running out of insults.
As always.

You're the one mocking; not thinking of an original insult.

And you're the one over-analyzing everything.

Shut up. Please and thank you?

Nope and you're not welcome.

"Yeah," I said painfully. "Yeah, something happened."

She just continued to stand there, staring at me. She went from looking so beautiful and hopeful, to tired, stressed and desperate. She wasn't hopeless, though - just desperate.

I sat her down, knowing what I was going to tell her could possibly knock her off her feet. I contemplated my next words, but nothing sounded right in my head, so I just began with whatever came to mind.

"At the show at Gilman, one of the alters became dominant. I-"

"Gloria or Christian?"

I sighed. "There's more now. There are 6 personalities now."

Adrienne looked like she aged a hundred years within a span of a second. My heart felt eroded as I explained the story behind Whatsername, Jimmy, Fink, and Rev as best as I could.

"So, you became Rev?" she inquired.

I nodded. "And he made me leave Gilman before Joey's set started. He went to a bar and got me loaded. He walked back, drunk as fuck, and basically harassed everyone there. By the time Emily's Army came out, he was being asked to leave. He made a big scene; I'm sure Joey heard me. I was kicked out of there before they even came on stage. I don't know what happened; I don't know if Joey had to walk home, if he knows exactly what happened, if he tried calling.."

Where's Fink?

Who cares!? Shut the fuck up!

Well, what if he's in Strangeland?

He'd only get pushed back into Strangeland if another personality resurrected. At least, that's what happened with you.

But what if there is someone else?

Do you know something I don't know?

I know a lot of things you don't know.

Relevant things. As in, what the fuck is wrong with Billie?

"We're going to have to tell him. And Jakob too."

Duh! Gosh, she's terrible with stating the obvious.

Yay, Rusty realized something.

"Billie?"

"I know," I answered. "I know."

You know nothing.

Shut up! Gosh, where's all this rage coming from?

Well, I am the son of rage and love.

Suburbia is, not you, you dumbfuck.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't of left when I did," Adrienne apologized.

"No, I should've told you how bad it was," I told her.

Yeah, that might have helped. But, you fucked up. Again.
Vodka helps fix fuck-ups, though, didja know?

So that's why you and Jim drink like there's no tomorrow.

Shut your mouth, pretty lady. Or I'll pour some Rev juice in it, if ya know what I mean.

"So, what do you want to do?" Adie asked, voice drenched with worry.

I sighed a little, feeling like the wind got knocked out of me. "Do what that doctor suggested - see a psychotherapist."

"Should we talk to Dr. Gibbs first? Check out all of the other options too?"

"I don't know," I said. "Other options would be different kinds of medications, and I can't go through the worthlessness of a drug like Cynosporian again. I think meeting with a psychotherapist is worth a shot."

Why not? You're worthless. It's a perfect combo!

Sting!