I am sorry this post is out of order. I try, but I still haven't mastered the art of changing the order of my posts.
It has begun. Parrish is starting to break. He calls me and is hysterical about some imagined situation. Today he is convinced that the other people in the house are doing crack and smack. He perseverates and his voice rises until I ask him to lower it. It is nearly impossible to break through his manic strings of words to insert my own word or words, begging him to stop talking. I have to shout to get is attention.
It has begun. Parrish is starting to break. He calls me and is hysterical about some imagined situation. Today he is convinced that the other people in the house are doing crack and smack. He perseverates and his voice rises until I ask him to lower it. It is nearly impossible to break through his manic strings of words to insert my own word or words, begging him to stop talking. I have to shout to get is attention.
He needs medication, and the day after his release from jail he went to the Health Department’s psychiatric facility only to be told it would be four to six weeks before he could see a doctor. No doctor, no medicine. Really. How in the name of God do they rationalize turning away a clearly psychotic man? I suppose they have no sense of a crisis. They should.
All of this wears on me, chips away at my sanity, makes me reclusive and agoraphobic. Will I survive it?
© 2013 cj schlottmn
