Many of you have wondered, as you will no doubt wonder in the future. "Where has that devil, oldscratch, gotten off to. oldscratch, a man, if he can even be called that, of limited intelligence, and even more limited manners. Quick to fire off a nonsensical heated reply, slow to think what harm his words might cause the fine citizens of dopeville. (Don’t stop me, I’m on a roll here.) A man of little use in conversations regarding Mormarian undergarments, and of great knowledge when it comes to penis bifurcation. Where has he been? Where is he now? Where is he going to be? And will it in any way interfere with my enjoyment of The Man Show.
I have noticed that the board has been dreadfully short on psychotic tirades. Good citizens fear not, I am here once more to provide you with your NIMH (National Institute of Mental Health) daily-recommended dose of psychosis. That covers where I am (or at least as much as I can legally share with you). What about where I’ve been.
Some of you may know of my brief sojourn at the Langley Porter resort (read: mental institution). Although I did not have the good fortune to gain reservations there, this time, I was able to secure lodging at Sequoia Hospital, psychiatric division. It was tough gaining admittance to this most exclusive of [words deleted], during my 8 day stay, there were no more that 11 other residents.
I was, at one point, involved with another doper. It didn’t, as they always tend to say, work out. I’m not going to go into details; it is neither here nor there. Mistakes were made. To quote Ernie… “What is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.” I did not take the ending of the relationship well. Although it was by no means responsible, it helped (along with an ongoing stretch of unemployment, and a tenuous living situation) kick me into a rather long psychotic episode. Periods of depression and mania became commonplace. Due to a desire not to worry anyone at the time, I attempted to hide my deteriorating mental condition. I had long arguments with the cats, they wanted me to seek treatment. I wrote messages to myself and to others in blood, usually mine, that were frequently unintelligible, even to myself. I gained possession of a friend’s WW2 Japanese sword, and stalked imaginary monsters in the condo during the day. Don’t worry, the sword is once again safely tucked away in his bedroom closet.
It all came to a head on Friday, the 16th of March. In a psychotic, manic, fit, I realized that the greatest forces in the universe act in seemingly random manners. In truth there’s nothing random about them. I decided to put my life in the hands of that most random seeming of events.
The coin toss.
Tails, I die. Heads, I live. One shot. All or nothing.
I took a shiny new quarter. I stared at it. I thought about it. I got my nerve up. I made sure this was the right choice. I flipped. I looked at it. Tails. It was settled. Today, I die. I left the apartment and walked over to the local Safeway. There, I purchased a large quantity of Unisom brand sleeping pills, and a small quantity of rum. Deciding not to kill myself in the apartment, (no one wants to deal with a dead body, plus there was the chance that someone could interfere with my attempt) I headed off to the park.
Two facts I did not know about Unisom. One, it’s nothing more than Benadryl. Two, In large doses it can cause coma, death and all that fun stuff we use it for, but it also causes hallucinations. The following events occurred between me taking the pills and me being picked up by the police the following day at 1:30 PM.
I attempted and failed to jump over a large body of water
I lost my glasses
I was threatened with a gun
I had a conversation with my grandfather, who is dead
My face and knees made repeated contact with the ground.
I bled…. A lot, still have some scars from it
I helped some people move into my old apartment in Davis, 90 miles away
I hung out in Golden Gate Park with my friend Sarah, this was 40 miles away
I was asked to leave an apartment complex by a man who managed it, and who later threatened me with a gun
I washed the blood off my face on at least three separate occasions.
I gained the power of flight
I lost my bag
I was able to see people and hear people talking over half a mile away
I conversed with mute clown like figures
I chased ducks, and screamed at them to stop bothering me
I frightened several small children and their mothers
I managed to wander onto a freeway
I lost one of my earplugs
I used the toilet in a random home that I wandered into; I did not encounter the occupants
I visited the Japanese tea gardens in Golden Gate Park.
I visited Crocodile World
Of these items, only the ones that I was able to verify afterwards, am I certain occurred. Those include the losing of items. The others may or may not have happened. It’s amazing how much more powerful hallucinations are when you’re already psychotic and when you don’t realize you are hallucinating. It didn’t even occur to me that I had attempted suicide until much later in the day
I was found in Central Park, in Santa Clara, several miles from where I had attempted to end my life. I was found by some very nice police officers that were responding to a Missing Person APB that had been put out on me. Due to the amount of blood on my face, and my behavior, they assumed that I was suffering from a concussion. I was handcuffed, and taken to Valley Medical Center by a nice man who placed me in handcuffs. He somehow managed to drive me there, despite the fact that numerous skate boarders were coming up and reaching their hands into the squad car, attempting to steal our souls. HE remained unconcerned, even when I warned him of them. He was quite polite, he even stopped the car at one point, and walked around the front, to try and see the skaters. Unfortunately they ran off before he could get there. I was dropped off at the ER, where I met a doctor who was informed by me that I could kill and torture if I so chose. I was hooked to a saline drip, and fed a tasty charcoal drink. I spent 9 hours in the ER, and was tended for periods by a security guard who had flowing wavy bright purple hair. Unfortunately, by the end of my stay there, his hair had reverted to boring black, and was no longer moving. Once they were reasonably certain that I wouldn’t pass away, I was taken to the psychiatric ward to sleep. The next morning, I was picked up by an ambulance, and taken up the peninsula to Sequoia Medical Center. The atmosphere was far more relaxed than Langley Porter. They let me have needles, scissors, and all sorts of fun objects. I also watched a funny movie. It starred Hugh grant, and was about the hilarious mishaps Englishmen have when they are mistaken for mobsters, or maybe he was a fish, or something. I don’t know. All I know is that they gave me lots of ativan, and I took full advantage of it.
I spent 8 days in the lockup, filled out my disability papers, all you have to do is take too many pills, and the state sends you money. AMAZING! And all I have to do to keep getting it is to continue hearing voices.
That more or less takes me up to where I will be. Sure there are other details, but they are trifling. They do included, old men not winning the lotto, phone machines, blood, a roasted artichoke, synchronicity, bug vomit, and some other equally uninteresting items.
And now for the last part of the equation. Where will I be? Why, Georgia of course. I’ll be arriving there at 10am local time on the 26th of April.
Thank you I’ll be here all [word deleted] night.
I thought of reviewing what I typed, and editing it for clarity, but realized that people might miss the old familiar incoherent oldie. So here you have it.
