Bony Ass, Scrawny, Skinny, Chicken Legs, Dope Fein Derek, Twig, Grass Fairy, Skin-and-Bones, Tommy Tape Worm and the list goes on and on.
I am absolutely positive I am not the only one in the world that has been called a nickname from time to time as it’s undoubtedly a rite of passage while growing up. At times these names can be embarrassing or a little bit hurtful but I believe it’s all just part of the game. Everyone is going to be made fun of and name calling is as a part of our culture as deep frying anything and covering it with sugar is. I am by no means immune from this activity as I have so many times in the past name dropped a nickname on some total unsuspecting soul to get a rise out of everyone else. While my intentions were not always of the best nature I hope that the receiver of the nickname has a sense of humor and can let it roll (and if not; next time I poke fun just come up with a creative way of making fun of me when my voice cracked twice while on my first date and meeting her mom, yea I was that guy).
In any case I have learned that in order to survive I must have thick skin. The names I’ve been called and have heard others call people is downright impressive and a bit worrisome. To think how much time and effort someone would take to rhyme a name with any other non-hygienic body part takes some effort and I’m a little scared of what they could do if that energy was spent elsewhere. But I am not here to change the ways of the youth (hell I’m no more mature than them anyways, ask the convenient store guy at the corner of Garfield and Vine whom I constantly am fooling with). That being said I did read my papers from my mini vacation at Porter Hospital and being called psychotic isn’t the best feeling.
I recently shifted through my belongings bag that I was allowed to bring home from Porter Hospital after my episode and needless to say I found a few interesting things. There was the picture of comparing myself to an otter (I’m not even sure what exactly an otter is), the paragraph story of my high school buddies and I waking up on a plantation during the Great Depression (not random at all), and of course my emotions diary which consisted of a business plan for a roller paintball abandoned warehouse game (all rights and trademarks reserved by .e4). While all of these seem interesting the doctor evaluation and labeling of me as psychotic was a little tough to take.
To think I was in state of mind in which I was behaving in such a way that others feared me is something I have trouble grasping. I still think of myself as a 5 foot nothing freshman walking into high school with a bowl cut and weighing 100 lbs soaking wet so to try and imagine someone feeling threatened by me is mind-bottling. To have this label thrust upon you that you are unstable and a threat to others takes just about everything you know about yourself and throws it out the window, you feel nonhuman.
I’m not 100% sure on how I was suppose to take the news that a professional feared me so much as to have me court ordered to be on hold in a psych ward; but to strip away my identity so much as though I don’t feel human probably isn’t the result they were looking for. The only way I know how to try and handle it is to pick myself up and keep going. To say I don’t care or that I don’t think about the names some people might use to describe me would be a lie. But it’s those name calling actions as a boy and the ones I still hear today that motivate me to prove them all wrong. This bowled haired psychotic chicken legged grass fairy can thank those nicknames for making me who I am today; I just wonder how many of those people calling me the names really know who they are.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!