JCJ's Psychiatrists

JCJ sits across from John Travolta, who wears a look of concerned curiosity, his fingers steepled like a space bishop.

JCJ:
John, your team of Psychlos—I mean psychiatrists—has been working 'round the clock like it’s the set of Battlefield Earth 2. And yet... here I am. Twenty-six pills a day. Injections. Blood tests every week. I'm starting to think this isn't medicine—it's a slow, pharmaceutical exorcism.

Travolta (nodding solemnly):
You know, JCJ, back on Psychlo, we used to inject the nonbelievers too. Made 'em more... compliant.

JCJ:
Exactly! Compliance. My Hindu doctor, Vijay Singh—no disrespect, the man once had the hands of a healer—but I think he’s lost the fire. He reads my charts like they're ancient Vedas, hoping the truth will reveal itself. But the truth, John, is that I feel worse. I feel... more lucid.

Travolta:
That’s how you know the system’s working. First, they break your mind. Then they reassemble it in their image. It’s the Hollywood way.

JCJ:
I used to believe in Vijay’s sacred chants and turmeric smoothies, but now? He’s just another bureaucrat in a lab coat. And the pills—they’re not healing me. They’re embalming me.

Travolta (leans forward):
You’re worried about the blood tests, aren’t you?

JCJ:
Yeah. What if they prove I’m insane?

Travolta:
Joe, let me tell you something—insanity is just a label given by the ones who fear your clarity. If your blood comes back with anything abnormal, it doesn’t mean you’re sick. It means you’re evolving. The Psychlos would call that threat level omega.

JCJ (laughs, but it's half-sincere):
Then let them test. Let them scan every cell. If they find madness, good. That means I’ve been paying attention.

Travolta (smiling):
Spoken like a true rebel against the psychiatric-industrial complex.

JCJ (quietly):
I just want to feel real again. Not sedated. Not monitored. Just… human.

Travolta:
Then maybe it’s time you fired Vijay Singh and hired yourself.

JCJ (standing):
I already have. Operation Unmedicated Messiah begins now.