It never fails.
After some Willie or Wanda finally snaps and plummets straight off the edge (in the form of a shooting rampage at company headquarters/the post office/a gas station/freeway/Ralphs market, etc.) – the next-door neighbors, relatives, and co-workers all blather and spout the same bullshit. Always claiming so-and-so ‘was such a nice guy’ or how ‘it was so out of character for her’ or ‘there must be some mistake, the Willie or Wanda I know would never ever do something like that.’
Blather, blather, blather.
What I wanna know is - just who are these people so compelled to keep their psychosis under wraps? And why? The pressure they must heap upon their unsuspecting loved ones. So sad, so shameful.
You’ve seen the footage. The poor neighbors, friends, aunts, and cousins who end up on Channel 9 news in stupefied disbelief, as they try to offer up an explanation for the actions of so-and-so’s crazy ass. The spiel is always the same: “I don’t know, she/he seemed just fine to me….”
It would be so refreshing to watch an interview when someone states emphatically that there was always something shady about that muthafucka next door, and therefore no surprise to learn that for the last six months he ate chicken heads for breakfast while wearing a tutu and mailing homemade ricin to every Supreme Court judge whose last name ends with an A.
It’s my personal belief that it’s much more considerate, honorable even, for a person to unapologetically and visibly unravel. Just put it right out there, from jump. It will cut down the confusion and ultimate feelings of betrayal in the long run. Best believe, I take time to verbally express that I’m coming undone, ‘aint right in the head, about to go smooth loco at every conceivable opportunity during an ordinary day. That way, my peeps’ll have the heads up, and be able to converse intelligently the day I really do end up losing my shit.
I can hear it now:
“Yo, ole girl been hangin’ on for months, kid. Months. I knew some shit had to go down eventually. How much is her bail?” (friends)
“Wigged the fuck out, for real? About time.” (co-workers)
“Yeah, she’d wave to me every morning..but she wasn’t foolin’ nobody. Chick always had that look in her eye. You know…that look? Plus, she never checked her mail….” (neighbors)
There’s nothing cool about pretending to be sane and emotionally balanced, people. This selfish act can actually hurt the ones you love – especially when you’re nicely tucked away at County or 51.50'd at the Neuro-Psych facility, and folks are left floundering in the aftermath of your deception. Trying to figure out why one day you were a functional citizen of the world, and the next you’re indicted for making multiple terrorist threats to the assholes at Jiffy Lube who manage to repeatedly sever your brake line during the course of a simple tire rotation and oil change.
So. If you’ve got problems (and you do) – just be honest. The act of battling an impending bout of psychosis is draining enough; why bother with the energy it takes to put up a façade? When someone asks How are you, How life’s going?, and your life is currently going downhill in a bullshit fashion -- buck up and say ‘Yo, my life is going down in some kind of bullshit fashion, and ‘aint no tellin.’ (hop around and blink a lot when you say it.) That way, fake, pollyanna-ish, and/or psychosis-shy people will back up off you. Which for me is always the ultimate goal.
Besides - most folks already know you’ve got serious mental issues going on, so who you frontin’ for, anyway?
(12/2005)
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