I do not mind being a patient here. I found a dozen potential wives here. I could go for the doctor, who makes the most money. I call her “Sugar,” which is short for Sugar Mama. She has a sweet smile and smells like honey in my mind. I do not mind consorting with the social worker, who is probably too old for me. I call her the librarian because she looks like one. She wears glasses, which makes her look smart. She wears dark slacks, sensible shoes, and has this aura about her. She makes me feel like checking out a book, but I would rather check her out. I call her beautiful because she is just lovely when she laughs. Last and not least I think I want to go steady with the petite Asian nurse. I call her “Dulce,” which is Spanish for “sweet.” She seems kind of shy because she does not like to talk. I think she is afraid of commitment. I can never see her alone anymore. There is always a burly male nurse and a tough looking security guard with her when she has to give me pills or interact with me. Ever since I tried to kiss her hand and asked her to marry me everything changed. I worry sometimes about these women getting jealous and starting a riot on the ward.
Tag Archive: berriozabal
I do the best I can, which is not nearly enough. I would not be in here if everything was fine. I have a complaint about my roommate. He thinks he’s God. I am tired of his blasphemies and grandiose thoughts. I thought everybody knew that I was God. He doesn’t respect me. I don’t know for how long I could forgive him. I am a wrathful God. I once caused devastation at General Hospital with a damp towel and two bars of soap. There was another impostor there trying to usurp my throne. I had to put him in his place. I am everywhere. I hear everything. I am giving my roommate one more chance. Before something happens you need to put him on another ward; or you could just let me go. I only agreed to come here to spread the Word to the sick and the mentally ill. In two weeks’ time I have made much progress. Dozens of patients have been released under my watch. I let the doctors and other hospital staff take the credit. They are mere mortals with self-esteem issues. I am God. Everyone knows me. Apparently, there is one exception.
Sam wore a white wedding dress, tennis shoes, and a pink knit cap. He talked at a frenetic rate stopping only to take a swallow and a giant breath. Sam did not want to discuss anything that had to do with mental illness. The first words out of his mouth was always, “I am a US Marshall with the federal government and you are under investigation.” He would walk away from anyone who questioned his delusions. Sam was missing two of his front teeth. He said that was where the microchips were implanted by the Russian counter espionage group, who had successfully kidnapped him and brainwashed him on his 30th birthday. Sam pulled out the teeth with a pair of pliers 3 weeks prior to his 33th birthday. He came across a memo that had been left by a rogue Russian spy telling him what had been done to him. Sam never had face to face contact with the rogue Russian spy. However, he would hear his voice often and act out on the commands of the rogue Russian spy. Sam became convinced he was being set up again. He tried to come into the US Marshall’s offices. But he was turned away each time. A few times he was evaluated and held for several days against his will at psychiatric hospitals. This time Sam was held for over a month. He had every single employee in the hospital under investigation. He told the doctor it would not be a bad idea if he was targeted for termination.
I let my leg get so bad, the doctor had to amputate. There was something evil in that leg. I could never tell when it would make me walk to places I did not want to go. My left leg was fine, but my right leg was pure evil. It lead me astray. I walked away from the people who cared about me. I could not find the strength to fight it. I cut my leg on a rusty nail. I let my leg bleed out, did not tend to my wound, and gangrene set in. I thought I was through with my evil right leg. But sometimes I get these pains in my right leg. It is excruciating pain. When I look down where it hurts, the leg is no longer there.
Stevie asked if he could have all his money all at once. He was tired of getting $5.00 a day from the board and care administrator. When asked what he would do with his money, he said, “I want to use it to go to a place where I could get away from it all.” Stevie said he knew a fellow in Los Angeles who was referred to as The Drug Tsar. Stevie said this fellow had the best shit. However, he was worse than the gas station companies. His prices were the highest in the entire county.
When asked why he was not taking his medications, Stevie said, “because it is poison.” He said that was not the only reason why he stopped taking them. Stevie said the medications affected his moods. He said the medications made him agitated. Stevie had milk stains on his jacket and jeans. He said he couldn’t help it. The medicine made his hands shake and he could not hold a glass of milk properly. He asked if it was okay to have a few dollars. He said he needed to catch a bus to go to see the Drug Tsar. When told it was not smart to mix street drugs with medications, he said, “Fuck that! I don’t need medications. I’m ain’ t that crazy.”
Stevie said, “I can’t take these pills. They will impair my ability to deal with my mother’s impending death.” When reminded that his mother had passed away several years ago, Stevie replied, “Bitch, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I just talked to her the other day.” Stevie believed the board and care administrator was his mother. He was African-American and the board and care administrator was from the Philippines. They were not related. Stevie said, “Poison runs in my veins. I’m contaminated. Until something is done about my money, I won’t take the medicine.”
Stevie began to shout obscenities. The voices in his head made him paranoid. He said, “The Drug Tsar and the Police in Los Angeles are to blame for my institutionalization.” He said, “My mind is clear. If it wasn’t for the poison, I would not be in this place.” When asked if he blamed the Drug Tsar for his troubles, why did he want to visit him? He said, “I want to beat his ass.” Stevie said the Drug Tsar got him hooked on magic drugs. He said he could not stop thinking of the way he felt when taking the Drug Tsar’s drugs. “I need that shit,” he said. Stevie would not listen to reason. He said he was going to kill the Drug Tsar for making him a junkie.