Making christmas cards with the mentally ill...
I see that live drivel is finally deciding to allow me to view it today. I
have not been able to reply to any comments (not that I have had more than like
one or two since this happened but still, I hate seeming impolite), I have not
been able to access my journal but yet, I could read and reply to my friend's
pages. Odd.
I must be a magnet for the mentally ill. I cannot even go to a bookstore without attracting some flaming psycho. And on that sour note, there are just
*some* things you do NOT need to tell people that you just "met". Or excuse me; just began stalking. The reprobate that is guilty of such douche-baggery was some spooky looking dude that was haunting the entrance way to Barnes and Nobles the other day. I managed to get by him the first time without making eye contact because my instincts always let me know when someone first gets the thought of engaging me in a conversation and we all know that eye contact only encourages them.
At any rate, I got my coffee on and decided to have a smoke before I looked for books and I thought the coast was clear but the assfang was hiding around the corner. And he came over to me. He asked me for a "light". I was horrified to see the layers of dirt in his nails as he reached for my lighter.*(*I was thinking that I should send said lighter to the CDC for further investigation of possible new diseases, his fingernails--dirt aside--were a really unwell and frightening shade of orange with...oh, I cannot even explain it. I don't think that even Crayola has a name for this color.)
He started asking me if I was "a gothic" and if I was into "wicca-craft" (no freaking lie!!!!). I desperately wanted to ask him what "wicca-craft" is but I did not wish to encourage any potentially philosophical debate, so I let it slide and just glared at him and said "no". Still not getting the picture, he started telling about how he was in town looking for work and needed a place to stay. Preferably (oh and he has a preference does he?) one that is close to the Health Department and Social Security place.
I see.
Well, they have apartments near there, maybe you could put some of your teeth or fingernail clippings on eBay and get top dollar, there are plenty of museums out there that showcase medical anomalies and would love to have either. Consider that rent, problem solved.
But I didn't say that, actually I didn't say anything as I did not have to.
Bucko began telling me about how he has to constantly check in with the Social Security office and that he is on SSI for his "mental illness".
Which, is Schizophrenia.
Um. That's nice. Let me just explain right here that there is a reason why SSI gives money to schizophrenics. See, back when I was unwell, physically and suffering from depression and even hired an attorney to get my really unwell ass on SSI, I got denied. BUT if you are diagnosed with Schizophrenia, that's all they need to know. Your ass will be receiving a check within a month or so after applying.
Why is this?
Well, it isn't because they love you, no, on the contrary. They don't want your crazy, hallucinating, blacking out, time-losing, voice-hearing ass out in the public.
Because IT FREAKS PEOPLE OUT.
Kind of like the words "Sociopath" and "Psychosis" do. There is a valid reason *why* those labels have bad connotations, because most people watch the
news and hear about how the latest and greatest mass murderer or serial killer or just general fucker has either of those "conditions." It is not something
that gets better with time, it gets worse. Like Syphilis untreated, it rots your brain.
So, therefore, SSI will pay you to keep your crazy ass home. And telling someone that you just met that you have either of the above conditions
isn't going to win friends.
Unless, of course, they too are mentally ill.
Anyway, this dude kept telling me about how he has to get his liver checked every two weeks because a lot of anti-psychotics can rot your liver and his is well on it's way to rotting out of his body, along with his teeth.I was polite, gave him a cigarette and went inside. Where he proceeded to fucking
follow me. When I came out of the bathroom, there he was standing next to the pay phone just blankly staring at me. Every hair on my head felt tingly in that "get away!" feeling. He actually gave me chills. He had the "thousand yard stare" like Dahmer and every other crazy ass out there. I went to the cafe where it is well lit and full of people and a few minutes later he came to the cafe and sat down in the chair that was a few chairs over from me. He had a book but the creepy thing (all of it was creepy) was that he sat there staring at the
back of it for a long time. And then staring at me.
I got up and left.
As I was driving out of the parking lot, he was standing in the front of the building
looking around and pacing.
Um...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I want to work in the area of psychology, it is what I have always wanted to do. I like crazy people. When they are contained. I do not like free-roaming
crazies.
Why do I attract these people? Why??!?!?!?
And that was enough excitement for me for the week....must go and wake Chris up for work......*yawn*
Hope everyone is well.