Chapter 8: Peace Out, Bitch

The weekend saw the introduction of a young guy with a crazy laugh who claimed to be a minister with "three funerals to do this weekend."  He insisted he would be leaving the next day by "5:15", a fact he repeated, loudly, until well after the hour had passed.

Sunday didn't shape up to be any better.  Another newcomer, this one a toothless "ex-Marine" with MS/ADD/TBI you-name-it who insisted everyone call her Remy, evidently never learned the shut the f*** up rule.  And blamed her outbursts on her MS/ADD/TBI whatever she thought of at the moment, so we were all just supposed to excuse them and let her dominate every group discussion we had.  So group therapy continually turned into Remy's private platform, and even the craziest among us began to roll eyes and resent her.

To top things off, loudmouth Remy and funky Mattie were roommates.  You can imagine the fun had there - one who can't shut up, the other who may as well be mute, and both claiming to be ex-soldiers who fought in Iraq/Afghanistan.  I call bullshit on Remy cause as far as I know the USMC doesn't take candidates with MS, which she claimed to have since high school.  Mattie, probably true - she looked like she'd seen some shit.

So group session begins, and this young ex-Navy kid I became friends with is about to blow a gasket over Remy's incessant rambling.  He's one of those rare 21-year-olds with an abundance of manners and etiquette, and I appreciated that - we got along great.  So I can see that he's getting frustrated and we're both rolling our eyes over Remy's interruptions when all of a sudden....

Remy:  And how'm I supposed to take caaaaaare of myself? I ain't never had to do that before, I don't know what to do.... (this was a common theme, repeated incessantly)
Mattie:   Join the military and get a job.

Twelve heads snapped to stare at the girl who refused to speak up until now.  Apparently even Crazy Eyes was sick of her roommate.  Remy continued...

Remy:  I was in the military!  I haaaaad a job!  It's not myyyy fault I have MS/ADD/TBI, etc....
Mattie:  (holds up 2 fingers in a 'V') Peace out, BITCH.

The air was sucked out of the room as we all held our breath waiting for the claws and hair to start flying.  Somehow the therapist regained control of the room and we proceeded with the "lesson". 

The following day I was able to conduct my very own "Peace Out, Bitch" as my shrink was releasing me.  Before I left, however, one of the friends I made pulled me aside and showed me a scribbled note he received from Tanya, the 50+ year old handicapped woman with severely dysfunctional attention-seeking habits (like forceful vomiting and fake sneezing so people would say "bless you" 674 times in a row).  I have a sympathetic leaning towards the mentally/physically challenged, but it became apparent that a majority of the things she did, much like Remy, were not due to her handicap, but her constant need for attention.  That shit is irritating.

She gave him a note, scribbled in what looked like a kindergartener's handwriting, inquiring as to the gentleman's proclivity for horizontal relations in the immediate future.  I read that and just stared at him like "uh buh whuuuuu?"  I had no words.  He thought that was the end of it, but she was waiting for him when he finished reading it, like "well?"  He tried to be nice and told her he was dating someone else, and she got embarrassed.  Because you're supposed to be embarrassed soliciting sex from a fellow patient.  Maybe we should have steered her towards Bobcat...

And then he said the words that will stick with me for a long time.  Although he was referring to Tanya specifically, they pretty much sum up my entire experience in the looney bin: 

"If that's the alternative... I need to start making some lifestyle changes."

Amen, brother.  A-freakin-men.