ROTH, taryn, PATIENT

TARYN KAY ROTH !


` JEALOUSY WITH A HALO

MONSTER HOSPITAL
CAN YOU PLEASE RELEASE ME?

YOUR NAME: Mal.
YOUR AGE: 21.
OTHER CHARACTERS: Nada.
CONTACT INFO: Send me telepathic messages! Or, you know... you could PM me. Or ask for my IM if you need it.
HOW DID YOU FIND US? I FOUND IT BECAUSE OF YOUR FACE. (actually Tara)

I FOUGHT THE WAR
BUT THE WAR WON'T STOP

FULL NAME: Taryn Kay Roth.
NICKNAMES: Uhhhh... fuck, I don't know. My step-dad used to call me dumbass a lot. Because he's a fucking bitch.
AGE: Twenty-seven. Not that it matters in a place where everyone treats you like a child.
GENDER: ...Uh, hello? Boobs. Or maybe I'm just a very good drag queen. I could be. Maybe I even fool myself. People used to tell me I 'act like a boy.' Which I take to mean they didn't like my non-responsive attitude or some shit like that. Cry me a river, I swear...
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: I'll get back to you on that because, at this point, I'm really not sure what to go with. I've had boyfriends my whole life, but I think I'm realizing I've never loved any of them. What the fuck is love though, really? Fuck it. I don't give a shit. I don't want to deal with this. Pass!
HOMETOWN: I don't know. We moved around a lot when I was growing up. I mean, I guess that's easy when your house is on wheels, right? I come from the Land of Trailer Park. I lived in San Diego, or somewhere or another just outside of San Diego sometimes, more than anywhere else. I guess. Especially for those... what... two, three years, or whatever the hell it was, before I came here.
MEMBER GROUP: You don't know why I'm here? I'm a fuckup, so that'd make me one of the patients here. Wish I had one of those cool white coats like the workers though. That'd be the shit. A nurse let me wear one once. She's gone now... everyone leaves.

HOLD MY ARMS DOWN
I'VE BEEN BAD, I'VE BEEN BAD

HAIR COLOR/STYLE: Blonde, longish, kinda wavy. Can't do shit to it without looking like a damn dirtyass hippy.
EYE COLOR: Blue. Blonde hair, blue eyes. I'm like a Nazi prototype. Not really.
HEIGHT/WEIGHT: Almost five foot eight. I'm like, so fucking close it pisses me off to see I'm not. And I weigh like... one hundred and thirty. Alright, it's a bit less than that... They're always telling me I need to fucking eat something. I'm don't have no god damn eating disorder!
BODY TYPE: Average? Skinny-average? I'm skinny there and I'm less skinny there. Whatever.
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Mothereffing moles...
FACE CLAIM: Some people have told me I look just like Chloë Sevigny.

BEAT HIM HANDS DOWN
THEY PUT A LITTLE LEAD IN, IN HIS HEAD

LIKES:

1. Scary movies.
2. Smoking. Actually, I totally prefer nicotine patches. But since I 'go overboard' with them I'm not allowed to have them anymore. Isn't that hilarious? Because allowing me to blacken my lungs is really so much better for me, right? ...Whatever.
3. Pills. Uppers, downers, sleeping pills, ADD medication-- anything. If you can swallow it, I'll try it. Though I'm not really in it for trippy effects like some people. That's a sometimes pleasant side-effect. My general goal is just... to effect my mood. But since nothing ever fucking works like I want it to...
4. I love beaches. I could bum around on a beach all day. That's this place's biggest downside, just about... No fucking beach! Lakes don't count. It's not the same.
5. Cats. Because they don't give a shit.
6. Complaining. It's kind of fun. Then again, sometimes it's really not...

DISLIKES:

1. Sappy music/books/women/anything. My way of dealing with this is to just blank out. ... Though I guess that's actually more a way not to deal with it...
2. Children. I'm leaving it at that.
3. Crowds, or closed spaces. I can panic. Hyperventilate. It's not pretty.
4. Fat people. I make this one girl cry all the fucking time. But I can't fucking stand the sight of her big, lard-filled gelatinous ass as she thuds her way down the hall! I'm hoping she'll develop anorexia, or at least bulimia, so I don't have to deal with it anymore.
5. Exercise. I'm not lazy, it's just boring.
6. My nose. My hair. My moles.
7. Admitting I'm wrong. Why must I admit it of I know I'm right? I'm always right. Well, there was that one time. Fuckit.
8. People who force me to do things when I don't want to do it. Maybe that also ties into the above a bit.
9. People who interrupt me when I'm talking. I'm not over-talkative. But when I want to talk, someone needs to shut the hell up and let me.

HABITS/QUIRKS:

1. I'm a terrible gossip. And I don't just mean that as in I gossip a lot-- though I do. I just mean I'm terrible at it in general. The best way to turn a story into a completely different one might be to give it to me and let me spread it.
2. I suck up to the nurses-- only because I know it'll get me things I want. You have to know which ones to work though. A new nurse is always the best nurse.
3. They tell me I have a overly-crude mouth. 'You're a fucking idiot,' I say.
4. I sing in the shower. Or hum, actually. I don't really sing much. I might to myself. A little bit. But no so other people can hear me. And this is only when I'm in a good mood. Actually, I hum outside the shower too, when in a good enough mood.

FEARS/WEAKNESSES:

1. Going crazy. Just, all-out losing it. I'm not like some of these people here! I don't want to be. It's not... it panics me. I don't like panicking.
2. Leaving the hospital. I'm very comfortable here. You know, in general. Things are better for me. I'm used to this. Weird things don't really pop up all the time to surprise me. I wouldn't have that if I was able to leave.
3. That I really am as fucked up as everyone seems to think I am. I function... right? I've seen worse here. I just have issues relating to people sometimes. And being emotional, caring... Surely that's not really so bad? I don't know. You live here long enough, maybe you become crazier no matter what.

ILLNESS:

The doctors call it Depersonalization Disorder. Basically, I'm detached from my emotions. I've also heard Psychopath thrown around from time to time over the years. And there's the addiction to pills and such. Which is because I get so... I feel so weird, it really flips me out and I get all crazy, and I'm just compelled to try and fix myself some times. And I'm apparently not supposed to do it the way I do it.

PERSONALITY:

1. I'm jaded. Or the people here tell me this is my biggest personality trait, at any rate. You know, I'm 'apathetic', or 'a bit too listless' on occasion maybe, and I'm apparently a 'cynical bitch'. Maybe they're right. I don't really care. Though I suppose that proves their point.
2. I'm smart. Too smart for my own good apparently. It's not necessarily that I'm book-smart... Maybe I just get bored too easily without some sort of stimulation. And often when I'm bored I become self-destructive in an effort to... I don't know, to feel something.
3. On the other hand, my therapist says I'm far too complacent. Too god damn happy to do nothing, to go nowhere, to never try. To sit and wallow in my self-pity or lack of feeling. Maybe because when I feel anything it can be almost painful. I'm full of contradictions. Or so they say.
4. Which I suppose brings me to my supposed dual-personality thing rather neatly. Not that I have... what the fuck do they call it now... ah, whatever, screw political correctness in the ass, I'm not one of these fucking loonies who thinks they're two people. More I just have weirdly shifting moods or something. Laughing one moment and then the black cloud rolls in and I'm barely responsive.
5. I'm struggling though. I struggle with everything. I want this, I want that, I want everything to go away, I want nothing to change, I want who I want but I don't want anyone. I'm not sure if life has no meaning anymore or if I believe these profoundly spiritual thoughts that roll through my head sometimes. I fight with myself over everything. I might fight with you too, taking one position one day and another the next.
6. One thing's for sure is that I'm not known to be scared of speaking my mind. I might not necessarily yell it... then again I might... but it'll be spoken. Not that anyone pays attention to my opinions anymore. Some of the fresh meat here does, but most here learned long ago not to put too much weight in what I say one minute to the next.
7. I'm a bit pessimistic, actually, as a general rule. And I'm incredibly biased and judgmental...
8. I can be friendly though, in a way. I think I've come across as a bit... whatever, not nice. And while I can be, mostly when I'm being mean it's a sort of quiet, broody, mostly-inward mean. Seething. Not a punching and kicking sort. I have friends here though, because I can actually be kind of nice. I'll do whatever anyone wants, just about. Go along with anything. Half the time because I like to have fun, the other half just because I have nothing better to do.
9. Easily addicted. No shit, right? Obviously I've got issue with this if I became a pill popper of such magnitude to get me here. But, you know, it's more than that. If I find something I like, or someone, I kind of... latch on and never let go. Not that I've found too many things in either category to obsess over. Which is why it's so easy to mistake me for someone who's apathetic to everything.
10. I can also be rather meticulous at times. I analyze just about everything. Well, I either analyze it to the point it drives me insane, or I ignore it completely, actually. There's not too much inbetween. I need to understand things though. Curiosity killed the cat and all that.

YOU'LL ASK YOURSELF
WHERE IS MY MIND? WHERE IS MY MIND?

HISTORY:

I was destined to do nothing with my life. The basic story is that I was a rather ignored kid. That, or I was being yelled at for getting into shit. Or getting in trouble for something my brothers or sister did. My sister loved blaming shit on me. Probably because I just let her do it. I was yelled at enough when young that I learned to ignore it. And really, what were they gonna do to me? Hit me? Of course, but really, so what? I'd run off when I wanted, and honestly they didn't care. They bitched at me when they caught me, but as I said before, I didn't care. When I was fourteen my mom left my dad-- though they were never actually married in the first place-- to be with this other man, so I stopped getting hit. And just got bitched at more, by her new asshole boyfriend. My brothers were gone soon and my sister was younger. The baby. So that left me.

So basically what I'm saying here is I learned to let people pile shit on me without caring. I blank out, I ignore, I grow despondent, or I just leave. Growing up in basically the lowest quality place possible, I knew about drugs my whole life just about. It only seemed logical to take them. My friends told me to mellow out, then they'd say I was too mellow and I should take something to hyper up. I popped this in, then I popped that in, then I mixed it, and so on. If I was over at anyone's house I'd steal from the cabinets. I'd get junk from stores. Whatever.

So, fast forward, right, and I've moved in with this guy. His name was Willis, and he turned a blind eye to what had over the years become my 'problem', and paid most of the bills and shit for me like a good man should. I was generally quiet and went along with things to avoid conflict, we fucked regularly, and I was thin. I was probably as good as his prospects where ever going to get and vice-versa, so he put up with me and I lived with him even though I didn't really like him. At least he didn't have a fucking cow when he needed to buy new pills every week.

So, one day, in a fit of my typical genius, I was feeling bad. Sad. Bored. So I did what I usually do; I took something. I wanted it. I swallowed all in the cabinets, and and then some. I ended up in the hospital, and the rest, as they say, is history. I ended up here, been here a few years. I'm comfortable. It's good for me I think. I kind of feel like I have footing here. Status, almost. I'm not quite as mousy-quiet as I used to be. I don't want to leave. I'm not trying to get better, honestly.

Everything was great until Deja moved in my room with me. It's not that I don't like her. She's a great roomie. I've had a few I couldn't fucking stand. But she makes me feel weird. The fact she makes me feel at all messes with my head; I'm not looking for that, I never really have. But I want it. I want her. I've never been jealous before her! I don't like it, but sometimes I find I can't stop myself from sitting here and scheming ways to get her away from Cameron. It was all so innocent before... Now I almost hate him. Just because she likes him, because of how she acts for him, about him... It's disgusting! Actually, I kind of do hate him. But he's the man with the pills. I need those. I have to deal with it.

I SHUT MY EYES
AND ALL THE WORLD DROPS DEAD

ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:

DONE!