My Mental Illness

While I am lucid and my medication regimen stalls my mental deterioration I thought it appropriate to explain to my audience the nature of my mental illness and why you may not understand or be able to follow some of my writings due to my condition that causes me to become disassociated and esoteric. I may even make up words or, if you are familiar with the term neologism which simply means fabricated words or "word salad." For now though I must go to my group house meeting and listen to the lunatic tenants blab away and the house staff blab away for about one hour: awfully boring. I apologize that I have not presented an explanation of my condition and how it effects the way I communicate earlier, but better now than never, as the cliche goes. You will be hearing from me soon, but for now, G'day!-Henry O'Malley

Henry's Monologues

Henry has recently completed his monologue "O Say What Is Gross." It is quite long, but when you get to the end you will find it most educational and less disjointed.-OSun

This may have been where it all began...

Long, long ago, in a time when I was constantly misdiagnosed and rebelling against the mental health system and various pharmaceutical companies, I wandered while victim of my delusions to a land far, far away. Actually, wandered may not be the proper word to describe my sojourn for I did not initially begin my journey on land but by sea.  There was some unseen magnetism drawing me to a destination. What destination? I hadn’t the slightest idea, I just let the magnet pull me headfirst into the North Atlantic ocean and I swam, determined and pulled by some supernatural force, to another continent: Europe, France( When off my medication I harbor supernatural powers). The place in which I came to shore was Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, a fishing village in France, but at the time I did not know the place or the reason I was compelled to swim such a great distance to arrive there. I sometimes tend to wander aimlessly and without purpose when my illness becomes my master; this time was different; some force had guided me there; I had a purpose. As I drew myself out of the water and my feet implanted themselves in the sand of the shore I was quite astonished by the air quality. It was as if I was inhaling some from of alchemy. The smell was quite unique, pleasant, but powerful; a mixture of magic and strange spirits. As I began to walk the shore, I noticed something unusual after a period of trance-like obliviousness: there was a set of footprints beside my own and by some instinct I was compelled to follow them. They were well engraved in the sand and I had a premonition that they appeared before me so that they could guide me-I knew not to where, but I knew it was in the cards for me to follow them. I was acutely under the influence of the delusions of my illness, but, oddly, my archfiend I Frank The Master did not attempt to possess me. Now, looking back, I knew I was being protected by the saint Sara the Black- saint of the gypsies, also known as Sara-la-Kali. As for the footprints, they seemed like safety to me and I knew by following them I would be deterred from evil. I did not walk beside the footprints, but rather placed my feet into their mold. They matched the shape and size of my own feet with a precision that was uncanny, but I was not...

BIG SISTER IS WATCHING YOU!: ALL NEW PROPAGANDA FOR YOU!

BIG SISTER IS WATCHING YOU!: ALL NEW PROPAGANDA FOR YOU!

BIG SISTER IS WATCHING YOU!: These Colors.....Wha?

BIG SISTER IS WATCHING YOU!: These Colors.....Wha?

Resentment is useless...the airbag didn't go off when I crashed!!!!I am still working on the fucking Hexastix: I just get pushed around by my "mental" condition sometim

Lately I have been in a special place I like to call "Trance Island." When my medications fail to keep me from having a "Hebe" episode, you will see or read rather about a part of me that is disconnected from this dimension but highly adaptable to planet fucking weirdo. I hate my mental illness, but I remain unresentfuyl. No resentment towards my condition exists inside my fragmented brain because resentment is absolutely useless. Yeah, fuck, so I tell somebody I won a purple bulldog one day, but the next day I say.."Purple bulldog? What are you crazy?" I am pushed around by my "mental" condition sometimes and it makes it hard for me to be consistent. But, damn it, the last book of Hexastix will finally be revealed now that I have been "stabilized." Oh dear! I also have to fucking write a Hexastix For Dummies manuel for clueless, or, rather, "less evolved" individuals. Poor, poor humans.I just get sick of people not getting it sometimes.....most times rather. Grow up! Evolve! Turn off the television and read a book (not Winnie-the pooh). Whateva! And poor,poor, Christopher Robin. I am so glad that pitiable kid is dead. Just Kidding. And if you don't like my sense of humor, I am informed by my greater forces of intellect to tell you to go join the sheep factory like all the others. I don't give a shit!!!! It is a hardship to be esoteric and invisible, but what the fuck ever! That's life Henry!! I find things that are esoteric  fascinating because it's not some beating a dead horse piece of information, what ever the form it comes in (book, a person says something. I am very curious and my illness has provided me not only with severe stress of the body and mind, but the ability to be curious of what I find to be an anomaly. I must say that a being what I am t does not reject (unless it was immoral to that person) , but tries to gain an understanding of the planet so and so comes from  is courageous: it is amazing how many cowards inhabit the earth. I can only take so much cowardice. I abhor cowards and self-pity and being pitied. I detest it!!!! Anyway, this cigarette is particularly great this morning. Why do I smoke? Well, I'm only human. Humans are cursed with one vice or another. Soo, that is all. -You want to know what is truly weird? Good, because I am going to tell you anyway. People....upper-middle class people-like to put books on their shelves and never read them. I thought books were books. I thought books were produced to be read. WTF! Books as decorations make me think the world is a bit crazier than me and meaningless and seeking negative attention.l, AND JUST FLAT OUT STUPID ABOUT IMPRESSING OTHERS. Suburban zombies with housecleaners that they share and gossip about. HOLY FALLEN COWS!!! People can be and are, to me, boring dusty tools. Re-runs of the most horrid movie. Acting-poor. Script-worse. Brains-exempt. If you have certain things one is accepted-  total dolts. What?  That defines most people? How boring! It is a great misfortune I must endure. The boring and stupid. I also have to deal with the nut-cases in the group home I inhabit. I find them to be annoying and I want to yell shut up so loud their eardrums become disabled. Same old shit. Okay, I am done with that tyrade. HA! -Hnery
P.S.-I do not rresent the airbag. Airbags can't help it if they are lazy.

Henry's Psychiatric Session to Determine Prognosis Part II

Henry returns to the room of Dr. Kentworth. He is smiling and fidgets with his hands, flops down on an empty chair, swings both legs over the left side of the chair,  and begins to laugh.

Dr. Kentworth: So, the cigarette went well I see.

Henry: (now very serious, no more laughter)
Create in me, O God, a pure heart--
but I am not pure!


Dr: Henry?

Henry: Create in me, O God, a pure heart--but I am not pure! The smell comes first,

but I am not pure! Then the man that calls himself "Frank the Master" pours into me and O God, a pure heart I am not!

Dr: Henry (pauses trying to capture henry's attention), have you ever been seen by a psychiatrist before?

Henry: On this day, O God, drop oil on my head as a symbol of healing. I saw a man once. His head was like a leper's tail. He told me I would be okay if I just stopped brushing my teeth. I thought, said, that sounds mighty dramatic, to the man...then he held out his hand.....and I took it....BLAST ME!

Dr: So, in other words, Henry, you have been to a psychiatrist before?

Henry: So much energy, and in one section. It tires me out to speak of it, but, nonetheless, yes, his name was O God! That's it! His name was O God! And he laid out his hand before me and tried to protect me from The Master (laughs) but, oh how The Master ripped off that hand of poor O God! And then I saw no one but Him. He told me to go to Kansas City and kill the board of Congress like I was some ol'white son-of-a-bitchi n'-dog-hearin'-son-of-Sam!

Dr: Henry, there is no need to raise your voice, I can hear you perfectly well when you just talk. (long pause, Henry kicks his feet up and down against the side of the chair and smiles at Dr. Kentworth) So, Henry, you're telling me that your first psychiatrist was O God?

Henry: (laughs and then swings his legs back to the front of the chair, crosses them, folds his hands and places them on his left leg, he now speaks in monotone) Yesiree, O God was his name-o. He told me that Frank was not real and that my mind was playing tricks on me. I was like, tricks. Who plays tricks. Not me, for sure. Tricks aren't anything but a young skeleton wearing a body, you know. 

Dr: So you have seen someone before me. Why did you see somebody before me Henry?

Henry: Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. See that man there, that accompanies that wretched smell, be gone. I don't care if it's bloody fucking Siberia, send him away. Send him away. Send him away. His eyes are expensive and violent. They cause an explosion inside of me. It is very uncomfortable and I damn my mother. Mother-fucker go on now to Siberia like O God says I say.

Dr: God was your first psychiatrist Henry?

Henry: In a sense, I guess you could say. (fixes his eyes on a bust of Carl Jung that rests upon the desk of the doctor) Senselessly, all around me I see brokenness: children hungry, women abused, pastors harassed, legislators befuddled, immigrants deported, people discouraged. That ain't my bag, right? My dreams were determined by my illness. How he overcame me is not altogether clear. I saw him but a few times. He was ugly. He looked like that hooded thing that takes the life away. He told me a lot of calumniation-malarkey. This hog-wash spewed from his mouth. A liar he was. His pants, were, in fact, not on fire though. That is a blasted shame because deceivers belong in the fire. Dreams, art, mythology=malarkey. Now this trash-dreamer was trying to tell me that my English scholarship went to hell because the host had sent it there. The host in my dream sent it, that is. My dreams send my scholarships to hell. Now. Does that sound right. 

Dr: Are you asking me a question Henry?

Henry: Not Henry (laughs)-the bad man dummy.

Dr: Who is the bad man?

Henry: Uh, like, duh, The Master, remember.

Dr: Yes, Henry, I remember. You did not trust your former psychiatrist?

Henry: (Cries out) WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT TRUST!!!! THE FUCKER TOLD ME I WAS INFESTED WITH THE FUCKING DEVIL!!!! NOW AWAY O GOD!!!!

Dr: Okay Henry, okay. Let us talk about something else. When was the last time you took a shower Henry?

Henry: Nineteen fucking eleven. The last time the waters did roar. They accosted me like the dickens. How they burned up my skin. Goddamn nineteen fucking eleven all good fuckers go to Heaven. Yeah, Fuck all them too-good-for-you's. I'm done with this.

Dr: Nineteen-eleven. That was a long time ago wouldn't you say Henry?

Henry: (Uncrosses his legs, gets up from his chair and goes to the window dragging his shoes along with him, expressionless) All Hell after that. All Hell.

....to be continued.....