Suicide, Schizophrenia and Sploshing

By David Estrada All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Humor

Blurb

The Veil of my fiction is lifted a bit as the fictional 'Z-Boys', Nazi brothers who love homosexual sex with themselves. I work in a grocery store stealing bags of food service soup for my lady who loves to splosh. I meet these Nazis in a mental ward where they become jealous and plot to ruin my life. July 26, 1997 and my dealings with racists in Southern California. Some years ago the KKK came to Anaheim....did they meet up with my so-called friends from my youth who worship Adolf Hitler. The KKK may have come to Anaheim but they only traveled from Whittier. the only encouragement for my books are the death threats from the Friends of Hitler July 26, 1997.

Chapter 1: I am a piece of shit

Life has always been like ambrosia, but my ambrosia is often mixed with capers. My name is David Estrada. I am the caper in the ambrosia of my neighborhood. Just by thinking about a caper one thinks of something tasty intrinsically... savory. But mixed with the fruit and sweets of the ambrosia they are both spoiled.

His name, his name is David Hume... he is a recent graduate from Fullerton College, but this isn’t his real name. The real David Hume was a renowned philosopher. Isn’t that the way life is? When shit hits the fan white people blame the outsider, the scapegoat. This is a graduation party for a friend or just an acquaintance. I, David Estrada like to drink and have very low self-esteem and ambition. We often think that everything is about us especially when we don’t know all the details of circumstances that we are not in control of but surround us like a murder of crows in park at dusk.

I could have walked to Hume’s house and start drink that afternoon I can’t remember that I didn’t. But around two the next morning they wouldn’t let me leave and I can’t remember if it was because someone stole the money for the strippers or was it that I had overdosed in the driveway and no one would call an ambulance, so a private doctor was called. But that is the end and you are wondering how I come to referring to most of my friends as though they were members of Hitler’s inner circle?

Adolf Hitler and I were workout buddies. We talked about racism and how I need to be proud of my birth heritage. I am adopted... My family is real...I am Hispanic, unless you are truly a racist. Because of these people, I never want to meet my birth family. Adolf, his brother and I went to a racist bookstore in Costa Mesa one night during my indoctrination into the cult of Hitler Christ. One day he told me that Mexicans were like Jews and we needed to put them unto trains to death camps. I this time I learn of ZOG...the Zone Occupied by Germany or ZOG. Some people said that ZOG was the Jews taking over the world, but I knew that America had never won the War and history had become Nazi propaganda since the Hitler won the war by making a deal to develop atomic bombs and bomb their former ally Japan.

Soon the AIDS Project would kill the remaining undesirables like the scientists had planned. The fear of physical love because of fatal disease would drive the lonely to suicide, but depression is as contagious as herpes but twenty times more scarring.

Galeazzo Ciano had been my childhood best friend but I see that there are no such things as friends. His older brother Benito Mussolini had been one of my childhood tormentors spitting in my face when I wanted to play with the other kids. I was born with birth defects to my urinary tract that cause him to get punched in the face by bullies, piss my pants and have chronic kidney infections. I wish I had died as a child, so I wouldn’t have had to live a life as mine. I wouldn’t have had to live through the Beer Garden putsch where I was thrown under the bus and I became the dirty spic scapegoat...

So, there I was hanging out with Nazis talking about our love of a Nazi punk group Aggravated Assault but really, I was a Spanish or Mexican Nazi sympathizer who just like getting drunk and asking this Adolf Hitler guy why he didn’t believe in God and why he hated Hispanics... my family. I mostly liked to drink and if I had thought about it too much I would have turned my gun on the Hitler’s and screamed FUCK WHITE POWER. Good Americans grieved at the news of the Oklahoma City bombing. Hitler’s father and mother kissed while the Nazi flag waved on the backyard flagpole.

I was at work and I was shocked most of this racist shit was almost a joke to me. This Mein Kampf that Adolf asked me to read. These KKK books he had me explain to him to test my comprehension. But the Jews are the evil people, he would explain; I wish life was that simple. Maybe I am evil because I think they are okay. Even if they never like me I still couldn’t see putting people in train cars destined for gas chambers.

Once at a party in Hacienda Heights Benito Mussolini yelled “88” thus, saluting Hitler... Hail Hitler. The double eight either stands for the eighth letter of the alphabet “HH” or the 88 words of Hitler in the Mein Kampf declaring the White Race sacrosanct and affirming racist beliefs like the White Power Bible.

So, there I am at a backyard party too shy to be with a girl and too stupid to just stay away from these white assholes. It is not that I hate all white people, but I think the U.S. should have tested their atomic weapons on Berlin... I have no doubt of my growing unpopularity among my peers who went on to have nice lives with wives or husbands they love... I sleep alone like I have since I was a child. I am waiting to die. I just think that if a woman got to know me she would hate me and well if you haven’t been in love by the time you reach twenty-five you should consider suicide as a solution to your low self-esteem. Maybe they gave me AIDS instead of a kidney transplant and only told the White Power girls. . . Maybe being Hispanic in a White Power Neighborhood is tantamount to AIDS or the untouchable caste.

But shortly after this real party the author was declared schizophrenic. I just wanted to drink... get smashed maybe smoke a little pot but this night was to be an intervention because every person who take prednisone or any kidney transplant medicine has schizophrenia. It is a scientific fact. I want to die every day because I see my life as worthless and unfulfilling because I was bullied by white supremacists no it had to do with kidney transplant medicine. And so now I am just waiting to die sixteen years of being jerked around by people in and out of the 12 step programs and psychiatry itself because my story is so far-fetched it must be fiction this story I am telling you now.

Aristotle and Emile Durkheim like to smoke pot and they are teachers at Fullerton College. I am shitfaced by three in the afternoon on a Saturday. I am right on schedule. This is going to culminate in a twelve-step meeting or some sort of criminal investigation where the police fail to fill any paperwork and I overdose and no one calls for an ambulance. But I am schizophrenic because of kidney medicine. Or maybe I am just fucking screaming for love and all these undercover cops want to hook me up with is a whore. Yes, I believe most of the Nazis in my neighborhood are officers of the law. But they are not here to serve justice. They aren’t even here to serve me a beer or a rum and coke. They are here to bully me like they always have, and I will always salute Columbine I wish I had turned my gun on them in the desert. Columbine is no laughing matter, and neither is what happened to me that day or the following days until I was locked in a mental institution. I don’t know who was worse that night the visit from Doctor Bob or the denial of Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini. Whatever happened, it was my fault.

As the night went along I became more drunk because this was in fact a college party with is a high school party on steroids. But I am pressured into drinking and that makes me an alcoholic... I smoke pot once or twice and that makes me an addict. But most of my insecurities come from my adoption and my sister who was adopted. She was friends with the Nazis... but they were the only people who wanted me around after high school. She was a shit bag ... My parents did the best they could, and she was under the assumption that white was better than brown. Or maybe when shit went down with her and my dad she was telling the truth and I wasn’t a witness. Or perhaps she wanted to put ideas into my head because the Estrada’s are evil people. A family that takes care of a kid with chronic kidney disease sounds evil to me, but I am schizophrenic.

This situation happened before high school and I think to this day that most women would rather be lesbians than have sex or be in love with me because I am diseased. I am well into the keg and Hume’s father bought. Baseball was on the television in the dimly lit living room. The Dodgers are playing the freeway series against the Angels. I am sauced so everything looks interesting by 4 in the afternoon on a Saturday. It is early July, and this is a graduation party for David Hume. It is the third inning and I am drunk. I don’t get baseball. It is the hick American equivalent to Cricket. The crowd begins to wave, and I can hear the dull roar through the TV.

But this time my brain is on repeat it is a symptom of being drunk. My brain is on repeat... reiteration in my synapse. I stumble outside, unaware who was batting or how many strikes had been thrown so far. I am drunk. This is a common occurrence... being drunk and drinking someone else’s alcohol.

For a party there isn’t much going on, they assure me that this is only the beginning and I may have arrived too early. I don’t remember if I ate today. Isn’t it the way it is when you drink too much you go to a party and they fail to feed you and if you ask for water they give you vodka... are there people in the backyard? I am too drunk to know if there are people here but there is my teacher Socrates he is burning a joint with Emile Durkheim. Would they kick down? When I have been drinking it is easier for me to ask for things. I become more social but who doesn’t? They smoke me out. Later everything that is and has been happening to me is going to be blamed on my kidney transplant medicine. It won’t be blamed on the marijuana, the beer or even people but on medicine that is not mind altering. But this is no ordinary graduation party it is an intervention where peer pressure is blamed on the one who is being pressured to drink and I continue to drink because I have no choice it is what I am being given... who takes the blame? This is a college party and they must be smarter than I. Adolf Hitler drives a black Jeep Wrangler.

The sun is going down, but I have just begun to come up. Marie Curie is in the backyard with her daughter. A couple of the other teachers are there. It is all sort of a menagerie of people who have a cocktail party attitude at a college kegger. I am like Hyde, so talkative, so uninhibited. I think I drove here by this time I could leave, and no one would object. But as the night and years go on I will suffer abject humiliation just like when I was a child... if you don’t know in the end the bullies win. They get to be in love... I am banished to a place close to the corner geekdom and lush, wondering if I am an alcoholic or just drinking to let my inner asshole out to be noticed by the ladies. Marie Curie’s daughter seems to have a delicious ass... I am such a pig. In a bit showing up fashionably late would be girls I went to Catholic High School with and tonight I would be able to say something no matter how moronic it maybe it is something to say to these beauties.

Another cup of lager and then a mixer with coke... Whiskey? Maybe someone would fall in love with me posthumously. I like F. Scott Fitzgerald... the romantic myth of him and Zelda Sayre. Maybe by this time I have had some pizza or some barbeque, but I can’t remember but I do remember I smoked out with Socrates and Durkheim. Zelda Sayre is here with a couple of her flapper cohorts. She is just about the most beautiful woman I have ever met. If I wasn’t drunk I would remember this moment forever but Zelda and I went to High School together. She was just so beautiful then and now I am so drunk that I think I may talk to her and the other flappers. She walked in the Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith. There was Cleo Brown and a few others but maybe we both forgot I was running with the Hitler Youth. Eva Braun would not like that I was mixing “it” up with these Catholic girls. Magda and Joseph Goebbels were mingling with the intellectuals.

Have you ever heard of the Penguin Joke? If you know what an inside joke is then you could think of this one as an outside joke, if that makes sense. In a group of people everyone but one maybe two people knows that the joke doesn’t make sense and is ridiculous, but the point of the joke is to ridicule those who follow along. Three penguins are sitting in a Jacuzzi after Christmas talking about what gifts they received. The first penguin got a boom box. The second penguin got a Television and the third says: “I got a fucking microwave.” Cue laughter. Everyone laughs and then they turn to the person who has heard if for the first time: “Why is that funny? You must be fucking retarded.” And then they laugh at those who are singled out.

Maybe Racism in my neighborhood was just like that. All these white people knew that it was a joke, except for Dave. And I am the one who got fucked in the ass because of it. Or is it that every white person knows that Civil Rights is a joke? Mussolini is talking to the Pope and I just slapped Marie Currie’s daughter on the ass or was that Zelda and did she just say oh in delight or ouch in discomfort not because of the strength of the slap but in disgust of the slapper. Zelda is just so beautiful.

“You’re so shy you need to go dancing she says to me.”

How did I get here to be talking to Zelda and why hasn’t she walked away saying that I am stupid I’ll never get it? Which I don’t women like confidence because when you start to make a home with them it means you are more adept to talking and haggling with your bosses or realtor. I just think I am too much of a piece of shit that hitting on chicks in dance clubs is tantamount to soliciting the royals for a sleepover in a seedy motel. She just wants me to get out more otherwise I may turn out to be a forty-something shut in.

Billie Holiday chimes in: “You have to go.” Dancing is the way she

gets her rocks off and relieves some stress. It just seems for me that this and well any sort of social situation is the cause of stress. But from her point of view it is like exercise. I just think I am so ugly and I would get laugh off the dance floor and out the club. And why are they being nice to me what is it are they up to something. They are so beautiful do they want me to go out so that they can introduce me to my type... because they are way above me.

Delegates from the land of the rising sun were not invited to the Aryanfest that night... The Showa Emperor Hirohito? I should have been with them getting bombed. But I am not Asian, so I am stupid... or was it that when I was a child I didn’t pick up on people who were trying to tell me something without spelling it out. Like: “She doesn’t like me, but she likes you, David.” But that would be too easy... just to put yourself out there first, knowing that I think you hate me just because I am a piece of shit.

It wasn’t an Aryanfest per se; it was more of a microcosm of the impending race war. And for the years to come I would be the soul being fought over to be saved. Or was it that I really didn’t like Christians...

Well you must see that I was raised Catholic and last time I checked anyone who believes in the teachings or the divinity of Christ is a Christian but some of these Aryans thought I was shit. I was not Christian not like them because I didn’t go to their church and frankly... I don’t believe in White Power Jesus. But really, I don’t believe in anything divine. I think that if one person is divine then all people are divine. But really anyone who knows about my community knows that most of the trouble comes from a religious university in La Mirada. Inclusion into a community of believers is tricky for atheists because they don’t believe what you believe... Maybe at best they understand the need for rules and laws but what god ever saved you from the bullies at school. They must have god on their side... like the Nazis in my neighborhood. God is only greater if you have greater numbers of people or bullets. Maybe the Christians will seek me out life Frankenstein with torches and pitchforks in the dead of night. Surely someone like me cannot live in their neighborhood.

We could blame all this on drinking but where is my responsibility? The actions and words are mine alone. So, in the backyard was a menagerie of people, it was for all intents and purposes a human zoo and I was the howler monkey. Things are going to hell in a hand basket. Someone hired Timothy Leary to spin records. I can barely think, and this guy is kicking the jams. What is he thinking? I should go back inside.

“Lush” says Rene Descartes father of the Cartesian coordinate system... father of modern geometry. “That’s what you are a drunk and a terrible one at that.”

He is right I won’t even argue. I just pour my Jack and Coke and walk outside or maybe I say fuck you. I don’t know I have always sucked at life and Rene is so much better than I at everything. I am just waiting to die. See after I had a transplant they said it would last for the next twenty years if I was lucky and really, I think I am a piece of shit. Descartes and his girlfriend are handsome... Me I am fuck ugly. I am shit.

Descartes was always a good guy to me it is just I tend to get out of hand when I drink. But I am not just the only one. . . I made him look bad before, but I really think he has control issues. But I suck at life and my health is and always has been ill. I just am waiting to die because I don’t think any woman other than my mom would want to have me around being sick all the time and drunk too? And so, time goes by and I drink because I don’t fit in here or anywhere. And my thoughts are twisted, distorted I see myself through a broken mirror. It would be best not to look at myself. To throw the mirror away and ask others what they think of me... let me stop talking about myself. What do you think of me? I think I have a problem. I think I am gross.

It seems that psychology is popular among this crowd maybe I should have excused myself before someone showed up with the coke... Not Coca Cola; cocaine. There are many labels for what psychology calls distorted thinking but frankly it is just shit to sell books. Psychiatrists want to fill prescriptions and bill you for something your family used to take care of; listening to your problems and giving you something to calm your nerves.

Ten styles of distorted thinking...

Black and white thinking is sort of throwing the baby out with the bath water. Instead of taking the pieces of our lives that can be salvaged and discarding the rest we throw everything out the window. It is also known as all or nothing thinking or creating a catastrophe out of a stubbed toe or building mountains out of mole hills but really have you gotten the idea of what is going on at this party. I always thought I needed to change my life that it wasn’t going the way, it should which leads us to the next style. Should statements... My life should go this way or that but never am I happy with how it is because our society puts such an emphasis on perfection and change being good. But sometimes the old adage should stand if it isn’t broke why fix it. I should have done this at that party all those years ago: “Fuck off you, fucking fascists. I am going home.”

Overgeneralization... Saying things like all Nazis should have been executed after World War Two. But really it is making all statements like all neo-Nazis are evil. I am sure there are some of these shitheads who send flowers to the families of boot party victims. There is so little love in the world for people who went to the wrong parties or were in the wrong place at the wrong time. David Estrada pissing in the bushes of David Hume’s house is where I was doing the wrong thing at the wrong place and time.

I was all coked out, smoked out and drunk and needing to use the toilet but well I am a guy and really don’t need a toilet all the time, so I went in the bushes. Almost falling over Che Guevara stopped me from falling into my own piss but I pissed on his leg.

At some time during the night I was tied up in a bedroom by some men. This will happen many times during my life by vigilantes. It wasn’t even a citizen’s arrest because these people had no intention of calling the police. They were holding me hostage. But they were members of the KKK, so it was okay.

Mental Filter... picking out the negative details like a bunch of Nazis are holding me hostage at the Hume residence what am I to do. What had I done to get this sort of treatment? Why is some asshole asking me if I like ‘Star Gate’? It was a good movie but do the heavy hitters in Hollywood party in Whittier. There is a Confederate flag on the wall and a poster of a guy in daisy dukes eating custard. This is a sick party. I think Timothy Leary wants to suck my cock. There are so many negative things happening that I forgot about Zelda Sayre beautiful Zelda with her black hair and great smile.

Although I may be a shy hetro-boy this family is out and about when it comes to their homosexuality but isn’t it that way when it comes to the White Power movement. Maybe the Hume Family has nothing to do with the overthrow of the American government and the Oklahoma City bombing but Adolf Hitler loved it when I gave him that wad of dollar bills from the house.

Magnification... we covered this earlier and really shit is hitting the fan because I am tied up in the room and something happened more than just a wad of cash is missing. But I don’t have it anymore I gave it to Hitler. I don’t think Zelda will ever want to see me again. Beautiful Zelda... maybe it’s just the drugs talking but she is hot. I am a dirty (dirty) pervert cruising the junior high for poon. Magnification says that admitting that I am this way even in a joke gets me listed on the FBI’s most wanted. Just so you know there are listening devices in my house and car and anything I say anywhere can and will be used against me because I am a piece of dog shit. Catastrophizing leads me to think of my eventual suicide once a day since this happened and I couldn’t exactly remember what I did wrong only that I was wrong... defective, broken and unfixable... totaled the insurance won’t pay to fix this shitty disaster of a human. Waiting to die because my kidney will fail soon because of the way I live my life.

Emotional reasoning... “You need to hit your knees every day and thank God for your kidney transplant.” Who the fuck is that Fatty Arbuckle? How did I get here why is everyone at the party standing in a huge circle talking about feeling and who the fuck is this fat fuck fatty Arbuckle? Who is he to tell me what to do? I prayed for death and it never came... I don’t think God listens to me. I reason that I feel like a piece of shit, so it must be true that is how everyone in the world perceives me. . .a huge piece of shit. A worthless human unworthy of love, I stand in the back yard wondering what I have done because it is always my fault and they can’t take me anywhere.

And here I am discounting the positive... Zelda is here with some of her friends. I haven’t made such a bad impression or is it that I am too drunk to notice that she finds me disgusting. But I don’t read minds and I am standing in a circle. I don’t know what is going on. My friends tell me to say that my name is the person to my left. What is this about? What is going on? What conclusion should I jump to? With the full knowledge that I am in deep shit, I say my name is Steve. And so, I ask who the hell the Fatty Arbuckle is? This huge guy is asking me questions like he oversees the show and it must be midnight or something. It seems like it is all my fault whatever happened. I should have just driven home but I think I lost my car in a poker game after I was given cocaine. I mean you only live once... my excuses grow exponentially.

And like every great drunk I leave things undone.

“Just a second ago you were Dave. Now you are Steve. Which is it?” Mr. Arbuckle asks me. I don’t know what he is talking about I just want to go home. I am too immature to comprehend what is going on, so they ask me to wait in the front yard, but I am not supposed to leave so they have someone watch me...

And as I thought about Zelda, Frieda Kahlo, Billie Holiday, Diego Rivera and a couple of other people at the party that either I went to high school with or college I was now under the impression that the Nazis who lived in my neighborhood who I thought were my friends we’re not...by no means did these people like me. Or am I just blowing things out of proportion? Maybe they caught me stealing cocaine and now they were having a mock trial because they couldn’t call the police. But they could call my family and as they had their mock trial or whatever they were doing I sat on the driveway next to a Camaro and passed out. But as I fell asleep on the concrete I died...

I overdosed or was it that they were exaggerating, and they didn’t need to call Mahatmas Gandhi to resuscitate me from my death. I know now that the world would be better without me polluting it with my soul.

Maybe god never loved me because he didn’t take me with him that night and left me to suffer the subsequent weeks of panic attacks and psychological battery from the teachers at Fullerton College for being an idiot... who hated himself since he could first form a memory.

“I’ll be your Zelda.” She said as she was leaving. But like every great love story goes she was talking to the guy behind me F. Scott Fitzgerald. David Estrada would never have a Zelda...

Jacques Cousteau was one of my instructors for zoology and he talked as though and made me think that I had punched a girl with a rare disease like hemophilia, but girls cannot have hemophilia because it is carried on the y-gene...l killed a girl named Christmas? And the doors would lock around me and the opportunities I thought I might have for a bright future would burn out like a 30-watt bulb in a retirement home with no one who cared enough to replace it. As every great Sheriff knows is that death is the reward for stealing cocaine from drug dealing DEA agents. In case you didn’t know every drug-dealer is a DEA agent. That’s why the Sheriffs kill you if you steal from them.

“He was the only one going through the rooms.” The DEA agent said at the trial in the backyard.

Galeazzo Ciano liked drugs more than I but because he was cool and a member of the Hitler youth no one accused him of stealing the coke. Girls like coke because it makes them horny...

Mussolini’s brother would not be accused, and he probably got away with the coke. I don’t believe the actual police or sheriffs were called that night but I was told to go to church...?

Someone told me Merry Christmas, but it was the middle of June. Maybe the meant that I should Merry Christmas the girl that I killed... or maybe we were discussing the actual month of Jesus of Nazareth’s birth. Actual records from that time place his birth in the summer.

The weeks went by as I was tortured psychologically by the teachers and students at Fullerton College... one day I was checked into a psych ward and I have wanted to die more and more every day since then. I hate myself and I think women do to... I have never been close with a woman and I am just waiting to kill myself. My life is meaningless.

And like every great Nazi movie Rudolf Hess and Hermann Goring sail to South America to perform eugenic experiments on the locals and blame the whole affair on David Estrada but frankly I still don’t know what I did wrong but like I have said before I am a piece of shit.

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