Lapse of Sanity

He has a gun. His brother is a L.A. cop. We all know their reputation. He has a key to Security Gate. Uses it after business hours. Sunday night, as I recall it. Late for me, 9PM. Gearing down from the weekend, preparing for the work week to begin. And for me I was literally preparing. I was a Retail Merchandiser. Supervisor. The company is located in Rhode Island. My immediate boss lived in Santa Monica. Her boss lived in Texas. Sunday night I figure out the week's schedule, pre-fill in forms. Saves times when at the stores. Liked saving time. Faster job is finished, faster I can get home and get out of those uncomfortable work clothes.

Would head to beach. Had beach bag packed, always. Heated up dinner which I usually made on Sunday. Made extra, divided into microwavable containers. Would take my meal, coffee and paper work to beach. Eat, take a nap, feed birds, sometimes, fill out more papers. Before I left the beach I took a plastic grocery store bag and cleaned up the section of the beach where I had chilled. It was part of my quarter mile stretch "Adopt-A-Beach" beach. My contract only required that I clean it four times a year, but I picked up others trash every time I was there.

Home to shower and electronically submit store visits and orders using a machine hooked up to telephone. Usta annoy me when meddlesome neighbor would keep knocking, no matter how many times I told him: can not come to door, working.

2005, Dr. Mike, told me I had a vivid imagination. And a slight psychosis. Slight? He was not there I was. Nothing slight about it. Guess I do have a vivid imagination. Too bad I can not channel it into, say writing, um, the next great American novel, eh. Yeah, I do write. But fiction?
Knock, knock, who's there, the friendly neighborhood ice cream man, with his brother, guns drawn, video camera in hand.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Trapped. I mentioned feeling like a rabbit gnawing off it's own leg to get out of a trap. That was not quite right. A somatic hallucination, I think it is called. I was the rabbit gnawing my leg. I felt it. Teeth chewing away. Was at work in a Wal-Mart in Orange County at the time. Heart pounding went outside for a cigarette break to calm me. Little girl saw me sitting feet outside the passenger side car door.

"I asked my mother and she said okay," the girl told me. No longer remember what she wanted to give me. Said "I thought you needed this." Being under the influence of my slight psychosis, I thought she was an angel. Or used by God as an angel, to give me comfort. Maybe it was an angel pin.

The nurse, that year, that I thought was the LCT BC/BS of Rhode Island authorized me to see, decided those things were from "Job Stress, take three days off and call if you need Valium." Makes me so mad today. How dare he deny me what my health insurance carry authorize me! What did I know? My head was in a fog.

When people ask me how or why I became homeless, that is it. Hard to get good help now-a-days.

An LCT might have discovered Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Maybe not. Dr. Mike missed it. Told me "Grow up." Drs. Mina and Ahmad missed it. Bipolar mania hallucinations (voices in the head, general maniac behavior) created by brain chemistry imbalance. Here. Take these pills. Side effects? So what you might get diabetes anyway.

Dangerous to prescribe them to me at that time. A side effect was death. Um, maybe I can hasten it along, take all of them at once? Add the prescription pain killers, a little booze? Turn the knob on the gas heater pipe, no heater installed. Apartment complex never did install that heater...