I want to talk about the voices in your head. They’ve become quite a little problem of mine lately. Please tell them to stop telling you to punch holes in walls. Landlords don’t really like that and I’m running out of excuses. Clinically, I know the reason. Sure, we all have synapses and neurotransmitters and sometimes they fire a little more than we like. I get it.
Thoughts are a weird little thing. It’s a fine line between a brilliant idea and intrusive noise. I think we crossed it when you strategically gutted your last apartment with your elbow. We need to move in another direction. Remember that discussion we had about medications? I do. I also know you don’t want them and that’s not a problem. I’m just going to have to figure something else out. It just kind of sucks because I know they would help with your perpetual battle against drywall. Either way, we’re in for the long haul.
I noticed you’re not getting out much these days. Hey, if I was cooped up in an apartment for 23 ½ hours a day I’d probably punch some walls too. This is especially true considering the life and adventures you’ve had; hopping trains, 2 years in Vietnam, working on the river, Chino, the women.
It was a good time getting coffee with you yesterday. All that stuff said about you; that your racist, angry, difficult and un-servable, don’t really seem to be true. You seem to be a pretty smart, thoughtful and outright funny guy. I also noticed that after two hours of bullshitting and half a pack of Camels that you didn’t hear the voices. It kind of makes me think that you don’t need psycho-tropic medications as much as a friend. I guess in the end friends are cheaper and have fewer side effects. Maybe that’s what the voices are trying to tell you when the walls close in. I get it.
I’ll see you Monday. We’ve got to look for another apartment. Hopefully I can get all the helping professionals to treat you as a person, not a case. That’s what the voices in my head are telling me.