Friday, August 12, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 31

I have a confession to make, I judge people, and I really like to do it too.

I do know it’s not a very good trait of mine and one that I am working on but let’s just say I still need a lot of work. I don’t so much judge the people I know for the ways they act, think or what have you. Nope, I save my judgment for the poor bastards I don’t know (most notably people in waiting rooms and especially mental doc’s waiting rooms).

I’m sure you all think that I’m going to hell, well then it’s a good thing I’ve already been there a couple times and know my way around. Anyways I’m sure you’ve never judged anyone in your life, except for me of course for writing this. It’s ok, you can admit it to yourself, that’s the first step (and the hardest, but I believe in you).

Ha-ha, OK, OK I’ll quit the bullshit. But I honestly do judge people a ton in my waiting rooms. I’m looking them up and down and assessing what they’re reading, doing or acting, ya know just trying to get a read on them. During this judgment of mine I more likely than not can expect the very same treatment from them. We’re both more than likely thinking:

“What the hell are they in here for? Damn, I wonder if they’re crazier than me.”

Well at least I’m thinking that. This logic of course gets thrown out the window when the person in the waiting room isn’t a patient. If it’s a friend, or guardian, or even a parent I can usually tell right away. The ones I judge the most are the parents of the teenager patients. They usually aren’t taking the entire BS involved with mental health as well as their kids and the frustration is more than evident on my fellow teenage patients’ faces.

I can recall one particular judgment of mine occurring after episode deuce in The Nasty while I was participating in the study at UC. I had to return to the waiting room for a few minutes until I could get my blood work taken and as I entered I exchange polite nods to a teenage girl (obviously the patient, damn it I’m judging again) and her father (an example of a teenage parent not taking it well). I could feel the tension in the room between these two right away and decided I was on her side (I already didn’t like him).

Instead of sitting I stood by the bulletin board and read the numerous flyers over every conceivable study you can think of. If you had a mental health condition and needed $22 a visit (or something close to that) this board was your key to success. I scanned through them but one in particular caught my eye about bipolar disorder and marijuana. I read the entire flyer and looked down for a tab to take a number when I (as well as the uptight dad watching me from behind) noticed they were all gone. In a smart-ass and judgmental tone he pronounced:

“Surprising isn’t it? All the weed ones are the only ones gone from the flyers.”

What a dick (my turn to judge). I turned my head slightly towards him and his daughter and snapped back:

“If you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you’d smoke too.”

I glanced back at his daughter as I left the waiting room and we exchanged a small laugh and smirk.

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!

Coming Correct,

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