“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 147: Grimm the Go To Guy

December 20, 2013

Shortly after I called Bogart’s mother, staff came in our room, took Bogart, and he came back with instructions about prep for the shock treatment.  He returned and said something like this, “wot da fock! it dinnit work, it dinnit work! its goin’a ‘appen! fuck fuck bugger wot we goin’a do Constable, ‘elp me stop it!”  He went on and on with a lot of words, basically repeating himself.  I still don’t know if I’m spelling the accent right, but you get the idea, Invisible Journal Reading People.  I tried to explain she hasn’t made the call yet.  He was determined to eat after midnight and before the procedure.

So when Wednesday morning came around, and there had been no opportunity for him to eat or drink anything yet besides grape juice, they came to get him.  It was a fight.  We were in the common room waiting for breakfast when they came for him.  He ran and fought and they didn’t want to sedate him prior to the anesthesia, but they called in more forces to attempt to contain him.  He was shouting out to me to help him.  I tried to step in and tell them to stop so I could talk to him and calm him down.  They wouldn’t listen to me, since I’m just a patient, and I myself was eventually hauled off and restrained, then sedated, because they thought I was antagonizing him.  He ended up strapped down on a gurney, shouting and crying before they wheeled him away.

He returned several hours later, in a wheel chair, brought into our room and helped onto his bed.  I asked if he was ok, they said it’s normal if he’s a little out of it for an hour or two, and that he’s having some muscle spasms which can happen sometimes, but they will wear off. Then they left.  He was lying on his side with his back to me so I went over to see him.  He was kind of twitching and just staring, and not looking at me.  I said, “Bogart?  Look at me.  How you feeling?”

He looked at me, not with the same vitality he always has, kind of weak, and he said, “they raped me.”

I said, “no they didn’t, they couldn’t have, you just had a procedure, you’re not serious, are you?”

“Feels like they raped me.”

“Physically feels that way or emotionally?”

He didn’t answer.

“Bogart, it was really traumatizing what you just went through, because you fought so much, it was against your will.  That is violating, so I’m sure you emotionally feel that way, it makes sense.”

“…yeah…”  Then he whined, “me ‘ead ‘urts. it ‘urts so bad.”

I got him a wet face cloth and put it on his head.  I suddenly felt like we were prisoners.  Not like in jail, but in some kind of unjust imprisonment situation.  Like hostages or prisoners of war.  It was us against them.  We were alone.  I tried to help but I have no voice, they won’t listen to a mental patient.  They don’t bother to individualize.  I mean, I’m mentally coherent, I’m just depressed.  But all the patients are treated the same regardless of the psychoses.  I’m treated just the same as the guy who eats his own shit.

Bogart leaned over and began to vomit on the floor.  This resulted in his shitting his pants.  I couldn’t move him while he was puking because he was resistant, but once he was done, I helped him up, walked him to the bathroom, helped him undress and get in the shower.  I tossed his clothes on the bed then I went and told the staff to come clean up the mess.  I went in the bathroom with him and shut the door.  He wanted to shower with the curtain open so he could see me.  He wasn’t really washing himself, instead he was just sitting on the floor of the shower, leaning against the shower wall.  He didn’t want me to leave.

After a little while he began to talk.  He said, “I don’ like to be raped.”

I just said, “yeah.”

Then he told me about when he was in England, his mother’s boyfriend used to rape him when he was a kid.  It went on for years until, when Bogart was about 11, he killed the guy.  He told me he cut the guy’s throat while he was sleeping.  Then he added that he was so angry, that he ended up cutting off the guy’s head and threw it outside into the street.  That’s when he first started receiving psychological treatment.  He said before that, he was quiet and timid.  He said the voices began telling him to kill the guy several months before he actually did.  The voices started years before that.  They were his friends, but he says that now they’re mean and cause him trouble.

His mood changed for a minute when he thought about sex.  He said there are no girls worthy of fucking besides the poet girl, I don’t think he knows her name is Kristin.  But I was like, “no, don’t even try.”  He mocked me saying she’s my girlfriend, but it was with a sense of humor.  I was like, “no. just no sex here.”  He said that he’s not “bent” but he’d fuck me anyway because I’m the prettiest thing here.  I told him to fuck off, that’s not happening.  He told me if I bent over, he could just close his eyes and pretend I was a girl.  I think he was serious.  “Fuck off Bogart, don’t even think about it.”  “Let me know if ya change ya min’.”  “Not happening.  Don’t bring it up again.”

I let him sit there until I peaked out and saw that they finished cleaning up everything, and they had hospital pajamas there for him folded on the bed.  I helped him stand and held his arm while he washed himself.  If I didn’t hold his arm he would’ve have fallen over.  When he was done, I shut off the water and handed him a towel and held his arm while he dried off.  He dressed while sitting on the bed, then laid down and fell asleep.

Bogart is a complete tragedy.  But by helping him and being there for him, it’s been benefiting me.  I’m beginning to feel less depressed.  I know that life is a series of good things and a bunch of shit.  It’s too painful to think about Valentina, but I know I will be able to get passed it, never forgetting, but I will be able to move on in my life.  I’m not sure when.  But having Bogart as a distraction helps to prevent me from dwelling and sinking deeper into that depression.  He’s given me a focus, and helping him makes me feel like the Grimm I used to be, before I got so heavily into drugs and became self absorbed.  I used to be the go to guy.  Then I was the guy no one could rely on.  I want to be the go to guy.  And though Bogart is a mess, at least he makes me feel like that again.


previous Grimm 146: Wall Grimm aka Dr. Robert Keitel of Greenfield Psychiatric, Experimental Unit http://wp.me/p41c99-nz

next Grimm 148: Dr. Keitel the Fraud, Bogart the Nutter, and the Goth Girl http://wp.me/p41c99-pa

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Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 141 - 155 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

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20 thoughts on ““The Journal of Wall Grimm” 147: Grimm the Go To Guy

  1. Reblogged this on SageDoyle.

  2. I can see why he cut the guys head off. I think I would have done the same. Although throwing it out onto the street may have caused a bit of a calamity lol

  3. Desiree G

    Are you a go-to guy in your world?

    • Yeah actually I am, but mostly when it comes to people’s problems. People have always come to me if they needed someone to talk to or help to put things into perspective. I never had it like Grimm, that he was that guy then he got messed up and was no longer that guy. It could be his own perspective of himself, or it could be reality. But no one ever saw me as messed up as I was because I hid it well and people just trusted that, though I was reckless, it was just a part of my personality pursuing as many experiences as possible, so they figured I had everything under control.

      • Desiree G

        And thus that left you without “go to” people. I use to be the go-to friend but I’ve slowly withdrawn myself from that role.

        • Well, I never really needed go to people, especially not for emotional reasons. I’m very private and I don’t complain. I’ve always had the habit of leading people to believe things were just fine with me no matter what. If things aren’t fine, I avoid people, so they have no idea lol

          • Desiree G

            “I’ve always had the habit of leading people to believe things were just fine with me no matter what. If things aren’t fine, I avoid people, so they have no idea” — in real life — this is exactly how I am. I don’t know why I’m different in the blogging world.

          • Because it’s on line, it’s easier, almost anonymous, and very common to find comfort among ‘strangers’ especially since the blogging community is mostly filled with kind, supportive people. Right?

  4. Desiree G

    I don’t think I write here to find comfort so much as acceptance. Or the ability to connect without a lot of judgement. Or just possibility the ability to connect. And I do surround myself with kind, supportive people in my real life, just not ones that would really attempt to understand without changing me.

    • Oh I wouldn’t say writing to find comfort, sorry, I was thinking maybe if you opened up or confided in online people. With your writing you’re definitely expressing yourself and it is more safe than in real life because there is less judgment, since like minded people find like minded bloggers, or open minded bloggers. So yeah, what you said lol

  5. I feel like sometimes life is just full of Bogart. Poor Bogart I feel like that sometimes after drinking.

    • lol yeah me too. I don’t drink much at all anymore, but when I’m stupid and think I have the tolerance I once did, this is my day after. “Life is just full of Bogart” that’s a bumper sticker, but no one would know what it means, and then they’d think of Humphrey Bogart lol

    • Ah wait, a t-shirt would be even better, which gave me a brainstorm. We’ll talk about this ;)


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