For the last thirteen years, I have been a doctor at Bienville State Mental Hospital. The morning routine was always the same: begin the day with bed checks, then the long walk down sterile corridors to my office for talks with my patients all day. After bed checks, I would make a quick detour to the doctors' lounge for a quick coffee and a bite of breakfast. It was never much, most days it was just toast and oatmeal. The doctors would spend their times talking about their patients, sometimes the talk would bother me, it feels like some of them treat our patients more like failed science experiments than actual human beings. Although, I am quick to remind the doctors why we're here.

Walking to my office, nurse Johnson handed me a new case file. This one has more red flags than a Mayday Parade in Red Square. Opening the door to my office, the wood paneling always giving me a mixed feeling of home and the reminder that I work for the state. Making my way to the desk, I pass the toys and games for our younger patients on one shelf, and my medical books behind me.

The coffee maker stopped, signaling that it was time to get to work. I grab my cup, the smell was amazing, my wife turned me on to this blueberry coffee. I had to admit, it didn't taste half bad either, it brings me a small comfort before a day of listening to an array of people, from suicidal children, to the most infamous serial killer in state history. The leather chair squeaked as I turned to my main desk to read the file.

I began to transcribe my pre-meeting notes:

"Nurse, please bring me the patient." The words on the file sent a shudder down my spine. I sipped my coffee to regain my composure. "Welcome, Mr. Helms, I'm Dr. Marcus Thorne. Welcome to my office." We shook hands, a hearty handshake, almost as if we about to conduct a business transaction. However, I could feel him judging me, he looked me up and down, and stood until I asked him to take a seat. "Mr. Helms, let me explain how this works, I will be recording all our sessions, however, they are for my own notes, and will not be shared." I started the recorder, "Mr. Helms, tell me in your own words why you're here."

"I am a political prisoner, the woke left wants to put me away because I love my president and my country. I have done nothing wrong, I am a victim of the woke mob. Everything I did was for the good of this country, I am making America great again." After his rant, Mr. Helms sat down, "You Soros funded people. I know what you're going to do here. You're going to brainwash me into being a communist, and then you're going to make me transgender. That's what you people do."

While I was personally insulted by his comments, I kept my thoughts to myself while I grabbed the file off my desk. Since this is our first meeting, I would not want to indulge his delusional fantasies about brainwashing. I picked up the file off my desk, found a picture, and held it up in front of Mr. Helms.

"Mr. Helms, who are these people?" I watched for any type of emotional reaction, but there was little. He studied the photo, "I have no idea. Enlighten me, who are they?"

"Mr. Helms, this is your ex-wife and two children. She divorced you three years ago. Does that bring back any memories?" It was noted in the case file that she filed for divorce due to extreme mental abuse. I continued to study Helms as he looked again at the picture, but no response. After turning a few pages in the file, I found another picture. The picture was taken right off his Facebook page. In it, he is at a political rally, wearing his red hat, and it seems as if he is lunging violently at someone while screaming. I showed him the picture, he asked who that deranged person was.

"Mr. Helms, that's you."

He loudly denied this, "No, I'm for law and order! This person is obviously deranged. If that is me screaming at those people, then they must have been a threat to this great country." The comments sent a shudder down my spine, he can barely even recognize himself.

"You say that other people suffer from a derangement syndrome. Explain that to me, what makes someone come down with this syndrome."

He shifted in the chair, "these people have been coddled by the left for so long, they see a real American and show him nothing but hate. The fags and the trannies, they run everything now. You got the snowflakes that won't even let us tell jokes. And then, you have the commies that just want to laze about all day, letting the government pay for them to force kids to be transgender. Hell, some of them are pretending to be cats, do you know teachers are keep kitty litter in classrooms for kids who identify as cats? Now, tell me how that's not deranged."

"And when did you first notice this derangement, sir?"

Helms thinks for a minute, "It started with the escalator. The next day, people are ripping in to him about how he wants to get rid of all the rapist illegals, because that's what they do all day, rape and murder. I noticed the chatter about him being 'racist' and everyone who supported him was a 'bigot.' They were laughing and treating this like a joke. I wasn't, any normal American wasn't. He was right, and they were mocking him for being right." I kept writing what he was saying down, his tone became sinister. "What are you doing there, you going to report me to your Satanic overlord? Maybe you'll do that while you molest children."

"Let's talk about the town hall meeting where you--"

"I did what I had to do," he shouted.

One of the guards peeked in, "everything okay in here?" The guard made sure that we saw the taser on his hip.

"Everything's fine, Harry." I replied, "it's just a heated session. I think Mr. Helms here is just a little stressed out and disorientated." I wanted to get the trust of Mr. Helms if I was to begin the hypnotherapy.

I tried to reassure Mr. Helms, "he is just here for our safety."

"Fuck you, he's here to make me bow to the deep state. He's here to force me to become a godless Communist. You people put me in here because I'm a God fearing patriot." Mr. Helms tried to get up and leave, "you aren't going to make me one of those trannies. I'm a man, M-A-N, man. I ain't no faggot, I ain't no communist. I am a God-fearing patriot of these United States. No prison camp is going to poison my mind into becoming one of those child fuckers."

"Mr. Helms, sit down." My voice was stern, but gentle. The guard turned around again, and placed his hand on the taser, Mr. Helms sat down, but still still combative. "I want to get back to the night of the town hall meeting. What happened?"

"I was going to give that Democrat asshole a piece of my mind. I knew he won in a rigged election, and all he ever talked about was socialist stuff like making unions stronger, and that bullshit universal health care crap. He was going to enslave our country. I just couldn't take it anymore. So, I did what any other God fearing American would do. I shot his commie ass."

"So, Mr. Helms, what you are saying is that you shot the Congressman because you saw him as a threat to the country? What about the other people that were there? Are you saying that was in self-defense too?"

"They were trying to grab my gun. I have a right to defend myself. What the hell is this, am I on trial again?" He leans forward in his chair, I know that one cross word is going to escalate to a fight.

I try to keep my voice firm, but calming. "No, Mr. Helms, I'm just trying to understand your point of view. How can we have a good debate if I don't understand your point of view?" He sat back in his chair, seeming to calm himself. Maybe if he saw that I was open to listen to him, he would remain calm.