Corruption of Mind and Soul
By RoAch
Prologue:
Syrus Nathanal is a troubled character that goes through many changes in his quest for anger management. The character is just a similar part of me, another part of me. Someone deep down inside me that never appears. Syrus Nathanal is just another part of all of us. At one time or another anger has done something to hurt your family, or someone you love. Managing that anger is what really counts. When it comes down to it, Syrus Nathanal probably knew what his problem was; he just did not want to fix it. He was angry at the fact that anger took over his life. Anger is something important, happiness is something important. Just remember that the cold liquid will not always save you, deal with your corruption. If you are in your most depressed time, just ask your self this,
Where is your mind? Where is your soul?
"Sentenced to imprisonment in a mental hospital pending a psychological exam." Those words rang in my mind like a fire bell. Never before have I heard such words that send chills down my spine. It was only a month ago that all the commotion had stopped. I was hung out to dry by a couple of morons. My family supported me through my court case, and my hard times. But in here, I have no one. The lights are off at 9:00pm and I have nothing. I am nothing. My daily life consists of staring at four concrete walls and a bucket for my shit. Life as I know it is over, my life has been over since I was born.
I was born in a small shit hole outside of Indio, California. My dad is my best friend; my mother is just there. I have two older brothers and no sisters. Right now I�m 5�8" and 150lbs. I lost a lot of weight because I live in this crap cell. I have red hair, the only one in my family to have red hair. My eyes are green and I look like a white boy, even though I have Mexican heritage. My brother used to kid me about my red hair and say that I didn�t belong to the family. I thought it was all bullshit, but now I�m starting to believe it.
When I was young I hated my father; I do not know why I hated him though. My mother was always around, my dad worked all day. I was quiet a smart young buck. I knew a lot about electricity and all the people in school knew I was smart. Honor classes were easy for me and I loved conducting experiments and reading. I hated that Student of the Month award. I was perhaps the smartest motherfucker in the whole school and I never received one. The kids that always won were those kiss ass kids. I just hated them and wanted them all to die. I had a dream I came to school with a shotgun and a couple of pipe bombs, shoved the pipe bombs down their pants and shot the teachers that never considered me. I doubt that it will ever happen. Maybe?
When I hit Junior High I thought it would be no sweat. Something happens to kids when they see girls during P.E. I know something happened to me, girls took over my life. I was no longer the smart kid in the front seat. I was the smart kid in the back seat trying to be cool so I could talk to some girl. That doesn�t get you very far, unless you want to end up like me in a cell, or a pine box.
High School consisted of reading, drinking with my friends, and my girlfriend. I had the intelligence to do well but I was extremely lazy. I never did my work, but I read a number of books. Catcher in the Rye, Mein Kampf, Slaughter House Five, and Hearts of Darkness. I was a smart kid; I just never applied my self. Or so it goes. I was only interested in my knowledge. Not knowledge for school or knowledge for work. My own personal achievement to know everything. I must have read every book in that library. Twice. Anyway, I will not bore you with my quest for knowledge.
Sarah is my wife now of 15 years. She had been my girlfriend since high school. We got married when I was 25, she was 27. She visits me sometimes but I hardly ever get to see outside my walls that I call home. Her and my father are the only ones I can trust. She earned my trust because no matter what happened, she was always there to tell me it would be ok. I love that girl.
My father�s name is Hank. I never liked my father until one day in July 1990. I was having an argument with my mother over my motorcycle. My father came home and took me aside and told me, "Son, don�t mind your mother, she�s crazy, and I�m not kidding." My mom had Bi-System Symptom. A disease that makes my mom extremely short tempered and angry constantly. Ever since then, I have loved my dad. He showed me what it was like to be a man and take care of a family. My dad is my role model; I want to be just like him, but not completely like him.
All my life I had been the good kid, doing good things and helping where ever I could. My job was with the newspaper. Everyday I would write articles at home and e-mail them to the editor. Everyday I received the same e-mail. "Thanks for the article but I think we�ll go another way for the story." Imagine getting that e-mail everyday of your life, for 20 years. A week before I went to court I sent a virus to all the newspaper editors. Then I stood up, stared at my monitor and put my fist through it. I broke every bone in my hand. But I didn�t stop until it was completely shattered. I don�t get angry often, but when I do you better not be in my way.
Anger and enragement, those two words describe me. I am filled with rage and hate. Hate for him, hate for my wife, and hate for everything. I broke two fingers one time; I can barely make a fist because of all the injuries. The first finger I broke when I punched the wall. The second one I broke when I punched it again. I shattered my hand when I punched my computer screen. My right hand has no use, I can barely hold it still and it hurts a lot. Physical pain doesn�t bother me, emotional pain bothers me. It tears me apart and I cannot survive. I refuse to lose my composure, but with people like Sarah, I lose control all the time.
Page after page I write about anger. I have to learn to deal with it or it will be the end of me. It's already too late, the end is near. The date is October 1, 2003, and it�s 3:00am. I haven�t seen a sunrise in months. There is no window in my cell, only walls and a bucket. Walls that cage me in walls that protect my anger. Those walls are closing in and my anger will take over. My death sentence is coming, soon.
I feel its presence. It�s a formation of a big, black, hooded head with a smile. I see it crucified on the wall. I reach for it, but my fingers never meet the wall. My cell is dark and the mood is somber. It may be pitch-black but the spirit is evident. I hear the wall speaking something; it�s not the wall. The sound is coming from something on the wall. Again I reach for it and�nothing. The same phrase is being repeated continuously. "Where is your mind? Where is your soul?"
It is now 11:00pm and I have been hearing the same phrase for the past 20 hours. I have to tolerate this raving sprit crucified on the wall. "Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" What does that mean? "Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" I am running out of time and I have to know. The walls are closing in, and yet I cannot feel them. Dammit it�s enraging me; I have to hear his rasp voice repeatedly. I can�t tolerate this any longer. The figure is growing larger, much like my anger.
For the first time in months, the door has opened to my cell. The C.O. handed me my last meal, steak and mashed potatoes. I threw it back in his face and yelled at him, "Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" They sent the priest to see me, I told him the same thing, "Where is your mind? Where is your soul? "I also told him to go fuck himself.
I cannot feel my arm, I reach for it and it is not there. I only feel a cold liquid on the floor. The figure is repeating his words more rapidly, and it seems as though he is not going away. I am extremely angry, and it is tearing me apart. Little by little the walls become closer, my anger grows with every second that passes. Why is this figure crucified on my wall? Why can�t I feel the wall? I reach and my fingers do not meet. The figure speaks louder, and my vision is hazy. Those words are like a saw tearing into me. Mind? What does that mean? Soul? What does that mean?
A long silence����..
I am in this place now, it is no longer my cell. The walls are white and cushiony. My vision is too blurry to see 2 feet in front of me. I understand what the spirit said.
"Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" Anger took over my life; I was angry at the world, angry at the figure for annoying me. Anger corrupted my mind and I couldn't think properly. My soul was isolated, I was isolated. I am a loner only because I isolate myself in order not to hurt anybody. The figure was helping me remember I�m all better now. Anger corrupted me, cold liquid saved me.
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The Los Angeles Chronicle
Obituary--October 2,2003
Syrus Nathanal�40years old�incarcerated in Angeles Nothing Growing Erratic Room Mental Hospital (A.N.G.E.R.)�gruesome suicide�2 children 1 wife�
Closed casket funeral due to injuries
Syrus Nathanal was incarcerated in Angeles Nothing Growing Erratic Room (A.N.G.E.R.) He died at the age of 40 due to suicide. Syrus was found crucified in his cell with a smile on his face. The skull was shattered into pieces and his arm completely torn off. The words Mind and Soul were scribbled on the wall with his own blood. Nobody knows what persuaded Syrus into doing such a thing; it looks as though he was torn apart. He was scheduled for release this morning at 7:00am. The room he was held in is extremely cold; his blood was almost frozen to the floor.