My visit to the Fun House

Yeah I know I promised a Wal-Mart rant but it hasn’t happened yet. I’ll get to it at some point.
In about an hour I’m off to my every 8 weeks adventure. Some of you know that I am being treated for depression. Those of you that didn’t know…well, you know now. Big dang deal ya say half the folks you know are on anti-depressants. Me too. The fact that I’m on meds isn’t a big deal at all. I’m one of the lucky people that found the right medication the first time and I haven’t had to change the dosage in two years.
Now the adventure part is that every 8 weeks I get to go to the County Mental Health Clinic and have an update on how I’m doing. Since I am poor, I qualify for free treatment. I thank G-d that I have this available to me. I hope others who are fighting depression can find the resources to get treated. I’ll talk about resources on another day. Today I’d like to introduce you to the wonderful world of mental illness po’ folk’s style. Don’t be offended folks. I have to make light of the situation or else I would truly be more depressed. The visit at the clinic starts with standing in line behind umpteen other folks who were given an appointment at the same time yours is. Most of the people are in various states of disarray. Some look as if they have just come off the streets and some smell like they have been living on them. There is a plethora of scents to be had at the county clinic. I highly recommend taking a few Ibuprofen before you start out.
If the smell of unclean bodies or urine soaked clothing doesn’t get you, the overwhelming smell of bad perfume will surely break you out in hives. Once an uncaring associate behind the glass takes your name and tells you to “sit down and wait until they call your name” the fun is on. It is time for serious people watching. This is a very humbling experience for me. I see over and over again how fortunate I am to not be severely effected by mental illness. You will find people rocking back and forth in chairs, talking to themselves…splayed out on the floor or benches outside. It reminds me of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest as people walk up to you asking time after time for a cigarette. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell them you don’t have one, they keep coming back. There is a lovely gentleman who sits outside and plays his harmonica. I often plant myself beside him to pass the time. All the regulars know him and ask him for a smoke. Since I am usually the only white woman there, I get asked for money as well as cigarettes. I usually laugh and remind them I am there for the same reasons they are. “I’m broke and sick just like you”. Strange but even the sickest of minds usually understands that. On several occasions there have been outbursts and near fights in the lobby. I had a man scream at me one time. He started off nice enough but as he kept talking to me he became paranoid and said I was staring at him. He called me every name in the book and I just kept smiling at him as security finally came and had a chat with him. He came back a few more times but I didn’t look up at him. Two other people made the mistake of making eye contact with him and he went on a tirade “Why you staring at me bitch? You better quit messing with me.” As he parted he said, ”You people need to take your medication.” I found that terribly funny. I often laugh to myself when things are so outrageous. It makes me look more like one of the “group”. Funky lookin white woman sitting there laughing to herself. When there are children present I have a much more relaxed time. I love how they hardly notice what is going on around them. The sad thing is a person who can barely function usually accompany them. It really makes me wonder what kind of life these children must have at home. It’s a sad world out there among the poor and mentally ill but it can be damn funny too. I’ll close by telling you the funniest thing I saw there. A gentleman who was obviously schizophrenic was walking the halls. His eyes darted from left to right looking at unseen enemies. I noticed he stopped in the middle of the room and was looking particularly paranoid. He looked left then right. He walked a few feet then stopped short again and went through the same routine. I then noticed that a name was being called from the speaker above his head. Each time the name was called he would look frantically around as if he was hearing God. Finally a nurse walked up to him, called him by name (yup, his was the name being called on the speaker) and walked off with him. I could hardly contain how funny I found this. Here this poor guy was already thinking people were after him and then someone…somewhere was calling his name. He couldn’t figure out where the sound was coming from so it just fed his paranoia more. Hmmm, I think some of you may find that a little sad and pathetic. I guess it was a “you had to be there” kind of thing. Anyway, I’m off the fun house. See ya when I get back.