>Something’s bugging me, and I don’t know when it will leave me alone, or what will make it go away. Maybe this will help.
there’s a guy I’ve met downtown. He’s a little odd, but harmless. He’s the one who gave me a vegan brownie that time. I think he’s had an interesting, if not difficult life. I know he once had a family, but he now lives alone. I don’t know if he lives in your ordinary apartment. Maybe sometimes it’s a room, sometimes it’s somebody’s couch. I think he’s been homeless before. He always wants to help me, and he would give everyone everything he had until he was naked, pennyless and homeless. He’s that kind of guy. I know all of that has to do somewhat with choices he’s made, but it’s still sad. Part of me wonders if he’s a little slow, but I’m not sure.
I saw him a few months ago, and he worried me a little bit. I can’t remember what he said to me, but I just remember thinking that he seemed confused and didn’t make a lot of sense. I hoped he was just having an off day.
but I saw him today, and oh me oh my oh you. Something is definitely horribly wrong with him, horribly wrong. I think he’s on some serious drugs, or he’s off ones that he’s been prescribed. What exited his mouth was nothing short of paranoia. According to this man, the police killed Jesus Christ, and they steal all our money, and they kil more than the worst serial murderer, and they’re out to lock every last one of us up and then go home and eat shrimp and lobster and drink wine, he’s been trying to avoid the police who have tried to kill him since he was an infant, and all the police, lawyers and judges hate him like poison. He also had this very mechanical creepy laugh. I can’t hope to synthesize it. It was like “heh, heh, heh.” While we were walking, since he decided to help me find stuff in a drugstore, he kept praising me in the same way as I would praise Trixie. “Oh, you don’t like wine? Good, Carin, good!” he said. I’m not writing this up to make fun of him. I’m just trying to illustrate how far gone he seems to be.
As I was waiting for my bus, I just sat beside him on a bench and searched for something I could say. something, anything. I wanted to ask him if he was getting any help, but he also seemed very easy to piss off. He once named off everything he had in his cupboards, which wasn’t much. I looked directly at him and asked him if he had enough food. what came back? “Believe me! I have food! I don’t want a woman to be worried about me. If a woman is worried, I get very angry.” Ok then. I don’t want to make him very angry, since very angry irrational people don’t do very safe things, and I’m very small. thankfully, we’re in a very open, public area and I can scream very loud, but I don’t want to have to. I don’t mean to make him sound like a monster, but he didn’t seem to be in his right mind at all.
I felt so helpless. I thought to myself, “I worked at a distress line. What can I do? What should I do? Is there anything I can do?” My head came back with a resounding no, even though the rest of me screamed that I can’t just leave him like this. but I did, and came home, and my head still spins.
I wouldn’t worry so much if I knew he had a good support network. But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. I don’t know who looks out for him. A friend of his came up to him and immediately asked him for a cigarette. Then she told him about the goings on in her life and walked off. And you know what sucks? if he got really bad, it might be the police that would be summoned to help him, who he’s convinced are out to get him. What a horrible situation for all involved.
I’m afraid of the condition in which I’ll next see him. He says he’s poor, so if he was given something to help treat some mental illness, maybe he can’t afford it. by the state of his head, god he needs it.
So, has anybody got any ideas of what I could do? Probably not, but I keep seeing him in my mind, and hearing the laugh, the mechanical, measured laugh, and the confusion that’s swirling in his head, and it won’t go away. Oh how I wish my cool neighbour of years gone by was around still. He dealt with mental illness, so he might have been able to give me some sound advice from the perspective of someone who’s been there. but he’s not. Anybody got any thoughts?