2000-11-22 - 03:53:02
I was about 19 and staying nightly with my boyfriend (who soon after became my husband). We stayed in his mom's (actually belonged to his grandmother) cockroach- and rat-infested house. To make up for the filthy residence, I made him take me out to dinner often. We used to go to this great place called The Mill that closed down, unfortunately. They used to make everything from scratch. Once I ordered the veggie pizza which was so good, but, he had also ordered something, so, I had half left over to take home. Well, since I stayed there on a regular basis, I put the container (one of those sturdy hard plastic containers that GOOD restaurants give you) in his mom's fridge. I know that I've mentioned this somewhere before in my diary, but, his momma is schizophrenic. I'm not just saying that. So, we woke up the next morning to her persistently questioning us about stuff that had nothing to do with anything, naturally, cuz she is schizophrenic and does not take any medication like she is supposed to nor does she visit any (much needed) psychiatrist like she is also supposed to. Okay. So, she was doing stuff in the kitchen. Whenever she used to do (and no doubt, still does) stuff in the kitchen, it never really amounted to anything. But, she went in there anyway. She encountered the see-through plastic container of the leftover pizza. She asked Joel what it was. He said it was pizza. That particular day Bonnie (is her name) had a cold. She said it was allergies. She asked what kind of pizza it was. I rolled my eyes and pretended to not hear her, cuz, Joel always begged me never to answer her, cuz she never made any sensible conversation. (He often taunted her. He would give her really dumb answers that he thought would just make her laugh, and also because giving her real answers truly did go right over her head. If she was told the truth, she usually just turned it around in her mind to mean something else.) So, anyway, she asked what kind a few times in a row. Then, she said she thought it was making her sick. She said she had been sick to her stomach and that it must be because that pizza is in her refrigerator. I said it was simply a veggie pizza. A vegetarian pizza. I told her the container it was in did not cause any smell from the pizza to go into the refrigerator. She asked me if there was pork in it. I reiterated that it was a VEGGIE. PIZZA. She went on to say that pork makes her sick to her stomach. Not even if she eats it, but even if she just smells it, that the smell of pork can make her sick, cuz she is allergic. Joel started laughing and said that it was pork pizza. She said that she was sorry but I better get it out right away so she doesn't keep getting sick. I told her I planned on eating it a little later in the day and that it was not pork and didn't have ANY meat on it, and that Joel was just teasing her. I told her she must be sick from something she had eaten earlier. She told me that she didn't want anymore pork pizza stored in her refrigerator. I can't remember how the rest of the day went. I remember it was too early in the relationship at that point, so, I probably didn't cause a big upheaval with his mom. I probably just heated the pizza up and ate it and went somewhere that day to get out of the house.
I can't stand crazy people.
Another time I was encountered with crazy people, was when I was Baker Act-ed the first time for depression and suicide. I got bored in the little mental holdover clinic that they stuck me in, cuz I was the only minor. Minors were always kept separate from the adult crazy people (and you're about to find out why if you don't already know). They felt sorry for me one of the days that I was in there, cuz I was the only minor, so they let me sit in the back of the adult rec room to watch TV. I was watching and some weirdo came over to talk to me and they asked me something that was way not included in my world, I forget what it was, now. So, I answered them by saying very loudly: HELLLLLL NOOOO!!! And the weird hell was stressed first. Well, this large, black, paranoid schizophrenic man turned around in his seat and said: "Whatchoo want with me? You bettah not be talkin' 'bout me. I'll kill you." And that's all I remember hearing before I was whisked out to safety down the hall and back to the boring, yet safe and necessary, minor's bench. His name happened to be MELVIN. Yes, that is M-E-L-V-I-N. In his paranoid and obviously non-medicated world, he heard me say Melvin instead of Hell No. I just don't mix well with crazy people.
