So this may be one of my worst ideas EVER. I’ve been sharing my struggles with depression with a small group of friends for years. Which is why they have recently taken over my treatment plan. They have recently selected and paid for a new group of mental health professionals. Because, frankly, the ones I picked SUCKED. Also, amazing as it may seem, my friends are well-educated people with good jobs who for whatever reason like me.
I am going to share a few of my posts in our tight little group. Knowing that shitheads everywhere, the kinds who wonder why I have a donate button, will go over the edge. I have known all of these people for a decade and they are trying to save my life.
It’s also okay to LOL at these entries. I try to find the humor in going crazy. In these scenes, I talk to my shrink who was very old and had to quit me for health reasons. I shamelessly suggest he is in fact dead. He is Freud, and I am ‘nilla or the patient. (pt) I am writing both parts. Banjo is in fact my dog, we call therapy dog. He doesn’t write anything either because he is a dog.
May12 2012 Entry.
Pt: What? Is the lack of sessions with me slowing down the new addition on your room in the old folks home or something?
Freud: You are rather contrary lately. What’s troubling you?
Pt: What’s troubling me? Im nuttier than a fruitcake Freud, I don’t need to have something troubling me. That is the whole point of being crazy… oh shit the Jehovah Witnesses are loose in the neighborhood..I need to put my “Please do not Disturb I am sacrificing a pig in the name of Satan sign on my door.
Stop writing that down, Freud. These are the jokes. Well the Jehovah Witnesses ARE wandering the neighborhood in their black and white outfits. Today they have black backpacks. That is sort of new. Sure the could be Jehovah Witness with backpacks full of religious tracts or they could be a brand new type of terrorists on a suicide bomb mission. The world is a scary place, Freud.
I said stop writing that down.
Freud: So today you are feeling afraid?
Pt: No Freud. Today I am feeling. BLAH. Most days I feel BLAH. Intertwined with annoyance. And with an element of shut the fuck up. But not afraid, Freud. Not today.
Freud: So were there any events this week to discuss?
Pt: We could talk about grocery stores. We got this big fancypants grocery store in the ghetto and it’s almost as big as super Walmart but it doesn’t have enough doors.
Freud: What is the required number of doors for a grocery store?
Pt. I’d say for one of this size I require at least three but six would be better. I believe Walmart has three. The one on the food end, the one into and more importantly out of the crap section and the one through the home and garden section. The Kroger only has one. It opens into a foyer crammed with carts and ugly flowers and stacks of cases of cheap bottled water in those bottles that they now make so paper thin that they pop if you look at them wrong. And the clientele is heavy on the Wal*Mart shopper end of the spectrum. Old people with walkers in a group like a short bus has let them out for a field trip. Entire meth families in jean shorts with saggy crotches…and..
Freud: I thought you liked the new store. Don’t they have lots of organic stuff that you think is going to make you sane?
Pt: You asked about an event Freud. This is my event. Let me tell you about my event. You may write this down if you need to. Where was I oh yeah, saggy crotches. I am being hypocritical there because I was wearing my Michael Kors jeans that are three sizes to big because I was retaining water or something when I bought them and looking for a pair of drinking jeans that were nice and loose. So they were at least a size and a half too big when I bought them and now they are like the before jeans on a Jenny Craig commercial but I wear them anyway because they are Michael Kors jeans. I’ve never had Michael Kors jeans before. It’s like that one year that my brother shamed my mother into not buying me anymore Kmart jeans where she bought me Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and Calvin Klein Jeans all on the same day. Nevermind you wouldn’t understand. The point is I realized in the parking lot in my huge pants and five dollar grey hoodie and fugly Lebonese shoes that I fit right in with the neighborhood. I have become the ghetto, Freud. Replete with Seventh Day Adventist hair. Or maybe it’s Latter Day Saints hair. I’m not sure.
Freud: So the event was you went to the grocery store looking god awful?
Pt: No Freud. I frequently go to the Kroger looking god awful. The ‘event’ as you like to call it was sort of a panic attack thing. The store was FULL of people and there were not enough doors. Had I not needed smokes I would have bolted. I also forgot my fucking coupons. It was very frustrating and I was panicky. Anyway, I left the house and it wasn’t fun. Moving on. Someone is stealing stuff .
Freud: (writing furiously, looks up) Someone is stealing your stuff? Is this part of the whole pretend hospital act we have going here or is this something you believe. Do you mean things are missing from your home?
Pt: I’m aware you are not real, Freud and that unfortunately I am not in some cushy crazy bin on a beautiful island like in the good old days when women could catch a case of the nerves and wear white and people would be very soft-spoken and free with the sedatives. I MEAN SOMEONE IS STEALING MY STUFF. It started with the silverware. I had a lot of silverware, and gold flatware, and funky picnicware and now nothing is ever clean. And every time I get around to washing things, which happens maybe twice or three times a month, there is less flatware than I started with. Someone is stealing my flatware.
Freud: So someone is coming into the house you never leave, nor allow other humans into and stealing your flatware?
Pt: Are you trying to imply it is Banjo? I don’t think Banjo is stealing my flatware. Perhaps you are the crazy one. Anyway, I could see flatware falling behind something or accidently getting thrown or dropped in the trash but that doesn’t explain the missing cheese grater. You can’t misplace a cheese grater. I’ve looked everywhere for it and use it all the time. Someone is stole my cheese grater, Freud. It’s the only explanation.
Freud: Um are you taking your fake anti-depressants?
Pt: Noe. and they are not fake, they are real anti-depressants. Just because they are not made by a big pharmaceutical company doesn’t mean they are fake. And no, I stopped taking them yesterday because I ran out, they are expensive and they stopped helping.
Pt: Sigh all you want Freud. Look I’m going to drink this crappy organic tree frog environmentally friend coffee and see if I can wash some silverware. My life is such that a day where I wash a couple forks is a good day. There are functioning adult down syndrome people with television careers on major networks and my personal accomplishment bar is washing some flatware and bathing myself. Have I mentioned what a kickass therapist you are, Freud.
Freud: Good Day, nilla.
Pt: Have a better than suicidal day yourself, Freud.
Later the same day….
Pt: OMG! OMG!
Freud: (peeks into pt room) You okay?
Pt: I’m fine. The cheese grater is on the dining room table!
Freud: So no one came in and stole your cheese grater. That’s great news.
Pt: No THEY RETURNED IT, Freud. Clearly, someone is trying gaslight me.
Freud: And, I’d say it’s working. I’m going to send the nurse in with a shot of Xanax.
Pt: [whispering] it’s a conspiracy. It was probably the Jehovah Witnesses.