Text: Boys Night Out. Trainwreck. Introducing.

[Doctor:]
Test, check. Well, he's been released today, and I'm going back where I started.
Looking over old notes, listening to tapes, wondering how bad I potentially messed up
this time. The wounds seem to be healing, and he seems to be getting along. But as I
appendage it, and I know he seems fine, But seems can be a very dangerous word,
especially in this business, it can be fatal.

Initial Diagnosis: Catatonic. and I know he's back there somewhere, but there's just
no response whatsoever, to any kind of set illness. We'll start him with medication
tomorrow, for sure.

This mans tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body. And it's not just tragedy,
it's dementia, despair, its this hole i can see in each of his eyes. Where all the
events that happen in this cruel world just kind of fall through. It's loneliness in
it's most crippling form. The kind that no amount of love, or human contact, could ever
mend.

The patient was plagued by violent nightmares. Terrible, deeply troubling dreams.
Which one night overflowed in to reality, and he murdered his wife, in his sleep.
These people were in love, deeply in love. And it's that love that I can now see
behind his eyes. And it's my job to try and fill those holes with something else.
But what? Hope. I can try to fill those holes with drugs, soothing words, but
that's all. I hope those wounds will heal in time, but right now, things aren't
looking good.

[Boys Night Out:]
The lines I wear around my wrist, they're there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist, they're there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist, they're there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist, they're there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist, they're there to prove that I exist.

[Patient:]
The lines around my wrists, the infection seems to be getting better.
It's in the center of my torso, behind my eyes and in the back of my head
Something is eating me alive from the inside.

[Doctor:]
Well that's grief of your loss.

[Patient:]
Don't tell me what it is.