One Bad Day

Reasons

Joker's POV

I'm sure you probably wonder why the hell I would ever decide to stay in Arkham? Lets face it, it is nowhere near classy enough for me, the food sucks, and the doctors are basically morons. Well, I'm under a stress I've never had to deal with before, doing what's right for the well being of another. This child, my child, my heir. Stress tends to bring out my bad side. And a lot of the time when I'm stressed Harley gets the brunt end of my rage.

Despite my general lack of empathy for others, I'm still perfectly aware of the carnage I put people through. If I'm home, left to my own devices, I would more than likely not be able to control myself if my moods shift. I'm afraid that I might inadvertently harm the baby. I didn't want to do that. My actions have already made me lose one child.

My exposure to PH760-9 had managed to considerably alter my reproductive abilities, though not completely inhibit. When you own a strip club women are on tap. I've had my fair share of women and one night stands, and never taken precautions because I believed it to be impossible. To the best of my knowledge there has never been any little Joker scares. So the chances of this sort of fluke happening again is a rather low chance. This is probably my last chance for a child of my own.

With every passing hour this child becomes more and more of something I truly want. It may not have been planned, it might have been a complete accident, but I find that I don't really have any regrets about it. I...want this. But because of the way my brain is hardwired, I tend to destroy anything that could truly be good for me. I'm sure my own child is of no exception. Therefore, I must take steps I normally wouldn't in order to ensure that I can't.

And these necessary steps include actually telling a psychatrist the truth about the fucked up shit that swirls through my head on any given day. Am I sane? No, I never have been from what my file says. I exhibited signs of depression as early as the age of three. By the time I was eight, I was having unwarranted outbursts. At ten, it says I killed my father in self defense. Then by 15 I had killed my mother. I didn't have any memories left of Jack's childhood so I honestly don't know what he went through over that next decade until I became the Joker. But I know who I am now. I'm an insane calculating killer who's gonna be a father.

That is if I can curb the bloodlust in my veins. Not to mention quiten down the mischievous voices always toying with me. I needed help. I knew I didn't have the amount of self control that I felt comfortable with. So the first necessary step I must take is getting a proper diagnosis of my mental status. There's a slight chance that some drug out there could actually be of use to me.

The only problem was, it was never going to be enough to tame me. I'm not very affected by conventional psychiatric medicine. It takes insane amounts and still usually didn't work. See, the blood in my veins still carries PH760-9, and it weakens anything that attempts to get in my blood stream. When I take street drugs to get high I have to do enough that it would overdose about a dozen normal people. Same way when I drink.

But I think I know a way to enhance or improve the drugs to hopefully work on me. But first things first, I need a no bullshit true diagnosis, not diaganonsense. So I'm eager to meet my new therapist and am hoping that I can control my contempt for them long enough to get a diagnosis. This is the only way I feel like Harley will be safe around me. The only way to ensure that I won't interfere with this child making it into the world.

So when they take me in to meet with my therapist I sit attentively as they read through all the notes from my previous therapists. It's a long list so I try to remain patient.

"Well, Mr Joker, sir. Do you know why you were taken into custody and placed here?"

I nod, "Because I broke many laws."

"Why do you think you did that?" He looks at me, pushing glasses up on his nose.

"I felt compelled to do so. But actually I was really hoping you could help me. I want a full evaluation," I tell him.

"Y-you do?" He asks seeming shocked.

"Yes. So start asking your questions, I will fully comply."

"O-ok. Um...do you suffer from trouble sleeping?"

I smile, "Absolutely doctor. Sometimes I go a week at a time without so much as laying down, much less sleep."

"Do you have trouble remembering things? Do you find it sometimes hard to focus?"

"Yes, on both accounts. I attribute much if my memory loss to shock therapy. Everytime I'm given a round I find that I lose residual memories."

"Are you prone to periods of depression? Suicidal thoughts or actions?"

I look down. I couldn't remember if I have ever actively tried to kill myself. But I was guilty of inflicting self harm quite often. "Sometimes I cut myself just to see how much I bleed. It's...comforting."

"Do you hear voices?" He asks me jotting down notes.

"Yes."

"Do the voices tell you to harm yourself or others?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how many different voices you can identify?"

"Three usually," and try my best to make that an accurate number.

"Will you consent to a brain MRI?"

"Yes."

"Blood tests?"

"Absolutely. As well as sleep monitoring and any other tests you deem necessary doctor."

He removed his glasses and folds his hands on top of the desk. "Mr Joker, you have been institutionalized here a total of twenty seven times. None of your accounts ever match a previous one, yet you seem to genuinely be asking for help. Why is that? I mean after all these years, why are you just now taking an interest in your own well being?"

I blink, "I have my reasons doctor."