Have you ever seen human skulls growing out of your skin? Do they talk to you and tell you to eat the entrails of adolescent boys? No? We all know you're lying to yourself. Soon, you'll end up in an insane asylum. It's ok, there's plenty there to keep your psychotic mind occupied. If boredom does happen to set it, there's always pruno or sodomy or scrabble. There's also plenty of civil servants to talk to, which is what I did over some of my own pruno on the coldest of spring nights.
Let's call this civil servant, "Frida." She works for an infamous mental institution, located right in our own backyard. She's worked there for a "good 20 years," as she put it. Don't be fooled by her short brown stature, this single mother of two, is as tough as kevlar and as brave as they come and she can handle the absolute worst. However, Frida hasn't always been such a bad ass. The first month she worked there, she had nightmares every night. With good reason too, she's been hurt on multiple occasions, but this "comes with the territory." She's prepared for almost anything these crazies are capable of. She's just thankful to have a career to support her family. That's more than most can say in these bleak times. One thing she is terrifyied of is being "gassed." Her definition is, "when a patient puts their own feces or urine in a cup and throws it at you." What a pleasant ice breaker.
Another charming aspect of her job is the chance of love. "It's possible," she said over a sip of beer. "Many women have a natural instinct to try and fix men," she continued, "also, they could have trouble at home, either because they're lonely or their husbands neglect them." This can and does happen often. Some have even gotten pregnant. You might not think it could happen to you, but chances are, you'd leave your entire family behind for a schizo stud, who might have killed their own family. I guess love can be found under the most deranged circumstances.
Frida says the madhouse isn't as morbid as the movies portray it to be. There's hope, although only a glimmer here and there. She's met some unforgettable nut jobs. One's she cares for as much as her own friends. "Mr. Dyke" sticks out in her mind especially. It's true, he's killed his own boss's baby in its crib because he thought it was the devil, but does this mean he's an evil person? The lines will always remain unclear, but she does feel sorry for him. She even said, "he's incredibly nice. You wouldn't think anything was wrong with him if you just saw him walking down the street." Looks are decieving. He's still unimaginably crazy. He talks to a floating gizmo and writes children's stories as well. She's even been in one of his. She's also met a patient who's claimed to figure out the cure for AIDS, but the government doesn't want anything to do with him. Such a shame he had to commit such a heinous crime. Who knows what he could've accomplished outside these padded walls?
Yes, she's seen them come and go. "It's a revolving door," she said somberly. Most will be institutionalized for life. It's a disheartening part of life, but someone has to help these whackos. Who else would be will to do this? I most certainly am not and she doesn't reccommend this job to anybody. "You will hate it," she said. Unless, of course, you want to fall in love with someone who has human skulls growing out of their skin and drinks the blood of teenage boys. If that's the case, then welcome home honey. This cup's for you.
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